Wildflowers
by GhostOfAMelody
Summary: Dean's life lay within the music he created, but it wasn't until a certain blue-eyed roadie came along that he realized what he was missing.(AU Destiel)
1. Chapter 1

Three cheers for AU's? My summary kinda sucks but I've never been particularly good at those.

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are greatly appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"So, where do we begin?" Rachel, his interviewer, asks as she pulls an expensive looking laptop out of her bag and adjusts her skirt. She looks uncomfortable in her clothes, clearly not her usual choice of attire, and is young enough to be Dean's daughter, but she maintains enough of a professional air that leads him to believe she's been in the business awhile.<p>

"I believe that's for you to decide." Dean chuckles, though more at their juxtaposition; the young career woman and the aged rocker, sitting across from one another. At least he remembered to shave that morning.

"We'll start with introductions then." Rachel says crisply and she perches her laptop on her knees. "Dean Winchester, the frontman and founder of Supernatural, one of the most renowned rock and roll bands that this world has ever seen. Some have even compared you to the likes of Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Rolling Stones."

Dean bites back another laugh at the way she says "Rock and Roll", it's unnatural on her tongue, not a word she uses often, not a genre she's too keen on. "I appreciate the sentiment but we can't hold a candle to them. Those guys are the stuff of legends, we're just five guys having a good time. That's what we've always been about."

"I wouldn't say always.." Dean rolls his eyes at her cynical tone.

"Shit happens...One of my more famous mottos I'm sure."

"So it's been said. The fans want to know why this 'shit' happens though. How it comes about. They want to know your highs and lows, your favorite moments and your biggest regrets."

"I can sum all that up with two words, one name, but if you have the time I'd like to tell you the whole story."

"That's what I'm here for." Rachel leans forward in her seat, her fingers poised above her keyboard. "I want you to tel me everything."

Dean takes a deep breath and starts to talk.

* * *

><p><strong>August 8th, 1981<strong>

"Writing a new song?"

Dean turns his attention from the hotel stationary in front of him to the girl sitting cross legged on his hotel bed; she's clad in only a Led Zeppelin sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers. For some reason she looks different than the girl he remembers bringing back to the room, he could've sworn her eyes had been green, not brown.

"Something like that." He says staring down at the words scribbled on the page. That's all they are right now, words. There's no flow to them, no meaning, they just stand there on the paper and make his head hurt.

He could really use another drink.

Taking his eyes off his failed work once more, he looks back over to the girl and finds her reading from a copy of the Bible that she must've dug up from one of the bedside drawers. Every now and again the corners of her mouth flit upwards into a smirk and Dean wishes he knew what passages she found so hilarious. If only he could remember her name...

"You've dropped your standards a bit."

"Pardon?" Her eyes brows knit together in confusion.

"Your sweater - it's signed, which means you got to be up close and personal with Zeppelin at some point or another." He gestures towards it.

"Maybe my friend got it signed for me."

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Those signatures are personalized, I think you were the one rubbing shoulders with the band."

"What does it matter to you anyway?"

"Well, you go from hanging with Zep to banging me, you're climbing back down the social ladder. Girls like you go where the fame is, not where the burnouts like me are." Dena avoids outright calling her a groupie, but the accusation is there all the same.

"You think I slept with you because I want to get famous?" She scoffs, "I'm not like those other girls, Dean, I'm not in some sort of competition to sleep with as many bands as I can. I'm in it for the music, I spend my life on the road, and as it so happens I have more than one set of needs to be fulfilled."

"Why do that though? Why waste your life on the road?" Her name is Ruby, he remembers with a jolt, Ruby like the stone on the necklace she wears.

"How old do you think I am?" She asks and Dean guesses 22, he guesses 23 and she laughs. "I'm 29, only a year away from 30. Every year my parents ask me the same things, 'Why aren't you married yet?' and 'Where's your children? Your big house? Your career?' How am I supposed to explain to them that my life is all right here? I could never be some housewife or secretary, I love the freedom of the open road. Concerts are my escape, my little bit of paradise, and letting all that go would destroy me. I don't waste my life on the road, I _live _my life on it. There's nowhere in this world I'd rather be than travelling to the next stadium in my car with the windows rolled down and the radio turned way up."

Ruby leans forward and her hair falls over her left shoulder, shielding half her face. ,"Now doesn't that sound familiar?"

* * *

><p>"She sent me a letter a few years after that. She had a husband, a kid on the way, a big house with a pool out back and co-owned her own bakery. She said she was happy but felt as though something was missing; a void only a car, a radio and a long stretch of road could fill. But all that was behind her, there was no going back." Dean finishes this story and Rachel fixes him with a curious look.<p>

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You'll see, it'll all come together in the end." He takes a sip of water from the bottle on the table.

"That's not the beginning of your story though, I want to know how the band first started out, why the five of you, so different from one another, decided to create it."

"The band came to be because all five of us fit the mold. We weren't so different; we all came from dysfunctional homes, we all sucked at school, and we all shared that same stupid dream of being at the top of the world. We were five dumb teenagers and all we knew is that we wanted to be in a rock and roll band."

Rachel's finger taps the index key several times. "Let's start there then."

* * *

><p><strong>March 1, 1968<strong>

Dad's gonna be home soon.

He's gonna walk straight through the front door and the first thing he'll see is that report card with all those shiny black F's on it. Dean knows it's no use trying to hide it from him, he'll find out eventually. Every single one of those Fs is going to be punched into his skin until he looks like the failure his grades say he is.

"_It's been a hard day's night, and I've been workin' like a dog!"_

Dean reaches over and turns up the volume on the old record player. That'll piss dad off too, but at this point it doesn't really matter. He hums along with the song, he knows them all, he's even surprised the record will still play. It's been a continuous source of background noise since he got it almost four years ago. That had been the one good thing his dad had ever done for him, buying that vinyl. It had been their one good day together.

The knob on his bedroom door turns slowly and Dean tenses up, expecting the worst, but it's only Sammy, his younger brother; he crosses the room and sits on Dean's bed. He's just as afraid of dad as Dean is.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean points at his brothers face where a large, purple bruise is starting to form under his right eye.

"I walked into a door...S'nothing." This is clearly a lie, he won't even meet his gaze as he says it.

"Bullshit! Those kids have been picking on you again!"

"I told you it's nothing! They're just a bit rough, that's all. They're just playing.."

"You're supposed to tell me when this happens so I can go deal with it! I don't want my baby brother getting hurt all the time!"

"You don't need to get into any more trouble either, Dean! Dad's already gonna flip when he sees your grades.." As if on cue, there's a distant click from the lock on the front door and the sound of footsteps passing through the entryway and retreating into the kitchen. Both boys pale instantly.

"Sammy, go to your room."

"Dean.."

"Just do it! I don't want dad getting mad at you as well! Get out of here." Sam is gone within seconds and Dean is left with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as the footsteps in the kitchen change direction and head towards his room. Defiantly, he turns the volume up on his recorder player all the way.

"Dean!" The door to his room is thrown open and slams against the wall next to it, denting it so severely that even years later Dean can pinpoint the exact spot it hit, even after the wall has been repainted. His father is yelling something else at him but can hardly be heard over the music.

"Can't hear you!" Dean screams back, scratching his throat raw with the effort.

"Turn that fucking thing off!" His dad roars and the next thing Dean knows is it's suddenly dead silent in the room and his record is lying in a hundred pieces on the floor. He stares at it, not quite believing what has just happened.

"Can't you do anything right? If you don't shape up and start acting like a mature adult then you're gonna end up a useless drop out living on the streets because he couldn't be bothered to pay attention in school. Is that want you want, Dean? To be the scum of the earth for the rest of your life." His dad waves his school report in his face.

"I don't care, I quit! I'm done with school, I hate it."

"No one's asking you to like it, Dean, you just have to suck it up and deal with it because that's what you're supposed to do. If your mother was here right now she would be so disappointed in you." Dean winces at the mention of his mother.

"If mom was here she wouldn't care what I did as long as I was happy! I'm never going back there again!" He's too old to be crying but the room starts to blur slightly around the edges and his voice is getting weaker.

"Then what are you gonna do, Dean? If you're not gonna go back to school, what in God's name are you going to do with your life?" His dad asks in a deadly quiet voice.

Dean looks down at the shattered remains of his record and then back up to the crumbled up report in his dad's hands and everything clicks into place. He has never been more sure about something than what he's about to say.

"I'm gonna be in a band."


	2. Chapter 2

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"And so the rest is history?" Rachel says with a laugh.<p>

"Not quite. The band you know now is very different from the band that I first started. I couldn't play any instruments and singing was out of the question at the time. There's a big difference between the idea of starting a band and the execution of it all. I couldn't play any instruments, I hadn't sang a damn thing in my life, I didn't really have a clue about what I was doing at that point." Dean states with a low chuckle.

"Isn't that how everything great starts out though? Trial and error?"

"For me there were a lot of errors in my trial but I did persevere. I bought a shitty little six string off a kid in my neighborhood for six bucks and started holding auditions by the beginning of summer."

"And how did that work out."

"Oh it was great, there was a line up out the door of people interested in joining. In those days everybody wanted to be in a band. Not that much has changed of course..." Dean adds dryly before continuing. "But the problem was finding people who had any real talent. Lucky for me, we hit the jackpot."

* * *

><p><strong>July 26th, 1968<strong>

**"**No really, that was great, no need to play us anything else." Dean says through gritted teeth to the latest hopeful. It's not that this guy was the worst violin player in the world, it's just that Dean found himself thinking a bag of cats might've made a more pleasing noise. Poor Sammy had turned an odd shade of white during the second verse of Ode to Joy and Dean slightly regrets enlisting his help with the audition process.

It hadnt been all bad of course, Dean had agreed to let Sam play bass (provided he find one), and a boy from down the block, Gabriel, owned a drum kit and provided a steady enough beat to be a shoe-in. Ezekiel, a kid from Sammy's grade, also proves to be a decent enough rhythm guitarist earning him the next spot.

All they need now is a lead.

"Next!" Dean calls through the door to his room and their next contestant enters. Dean's jaw drops in shock. Standing in front of him, holding a guitar case closely to their chest, _is a girl_. Looking more out of place than a nun at The Cavern, she's shifting her weight from foot to foot, fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse and darting her eyes around the room.

"Uhh sorry sweetheart, the beauty pageant must be next door. We're trying to create a rock and roll band here." Dean tells her nastily, mostly to cover up his envy over the fact that she's now opened up her case to reveal the sickest guitar he's ever seen.

"That's not even remotely funny." Her eyes zero in on his face and the nervous energy dissipates as soon as he challenges her.

"What's your name?"

"Charlie, Charlie Bradbury."

"Well, Miss Bradbury, show us what you've got!" Dean leans back with a smirk and Sammy places a cautionary hand over one of his ears. With a glare directed at both of them, Charlie tucks her long red hair behind her, pulls a guitar pick out of the heart shaped locket around her neck and settles down to play. From the first chord she hits, Dean knows he was wrong about her. She plays the classics but with a flair that's all her own, seamlessly moving from "House of the Rising Sun" to "We Can Work It Out" with a bridge in between that she's clearly made up herself. She's Jimi Hendrix and Les Paul all rolled up into one and Dean can't imagine his band without her. For the first time he can see them all up on stage, performing for a sold-out crowd of a hundred thousand people whose scream almost drown out the music they're playing. For the first time Dean sees his dream becoming something more than just a fantasy.

"Was that okay? Or should I just head on over next store and try my luck at the beauty pageant?" Charlie asks teasingly, but there is a hint of worry in her tone. Dean takes a moment to register that the music has stopped and he sits back up straight, unaware that he had unconsciously started to lean towards her.

"No, no, that was fine!" He is unable to articulate fully how well she did and doesn't even need to look over to Sammy for verification on his decision. "Umm, if you wanted, totally up to you of course, you could...you could join the band. We'd love to have you in it."

"Sure!" Charlie chirps with a big smile on her face. "Just call me whenever practice is, I'll leave you my number. It was nice meeting you guys, I look forward to working with you." She gives them both the Vulcan salute and leaves the room with an extra spring in her step. There's a slight pause and a scratching noise on Dean's door before she fully exits the house. A quick check by Sam reveals her number scrawled across the front of it in large block letters. He sits back down and looks over to see a broad grin spreading across Dean's face.

"What?"

"Look at us, Sammy. We got ourselves a band!"

* * *

><p>"What about the name though?" Rachel interrupts suddenly.<p>

"Huh?"

"The name! 'Supernatural', it's not exactly, forgive me, what people would think of when thinking about rock music."

"Since when does any band name make any sense in relation to the music they make? The Rolling Stones don't make music about mobile sediment, don't even get me started on Cream..."

"Alright, alright. I was just asking." She sighs.

"You're getting too far ahead of yourself. Just relax, everything will be explained at some point or another." Dean laughs again and starts back from where he left off.

* * *

><p><strong>August 8th, 1968<strong>

"No way! You know how dumb we'll sound with a name like 'Dean and the boys'?" Charlie throws her hands up in disgust.

"I like the sound of it! And it's my band anyway!" Dean grumbles. The whole group is sitting in his basement, his dad's out of town again so they can hold all their meetings here for the time being.

"But the rest of us are members too! And if you haven't noticed there's a slight issue with being called 'the boys'. Namely, I'm a girl!"

"Fine, 'Dean and the boys and that chick named Charlie'. Happy?"

"Might as well just name us 'Deanie and the weenies' then."

"Guys! Enough!" Sam cuts in exasperatedly and Dean and Charlie resort to glaring at each other. "We'll never decide on a name if you two don't stop bickering."

"We had a perfectly good name until Charlie had to ruin it! This is important, whatever we choose will loom large in our legend!"

"Okay, Ringo, no need to be overly dramatic here." Gabriel scoffs and pops another lollipop into his mouth. He always seems to have a neverending supply in his pocket.

"What about 'Supernatural'?" Ezekiel pipes in, glancing over the top of the book he's reading.

"Did you just choose a random word from the paragraph you're on?" Gabriel asks.

"Sort of..."

"Well for that matter, why not name us 'And'? Or even 'The'? I think we could the great band 'The'."

"Shut it, Gabriel! I don't think it's a bad name." Sam says. "It has a certain ring to it, it would give us a good stage presence."

"Don't you think we should worry about getting a gig first and _then_ start thinking about stage presence?" Charlie points out.

"Stage presence is everything! We won't get a gig if we don't have good stage presence."

"We also won't get a gig if we can't decide on a goddamn name!"

"What do you think, Dean?" Ezekiel raises his voice to be heard over the others bickering.

"Presenting Supernatural!" Dean booms in his best announcer voice. "I don't mind it actually."

"Then it's settled! From now on, us five losers will be known as Supernatural." Charlie yells and all of them cheer in unison and grin at one another. They're just five kids sitting in a dark basement with nothing but a name for themselves ad yet each of them can't help but feel they're headed in the right direction.

* * *

><p>"You literally chose your name from a random page in a book? What book was it even?" Rachel asks incredulously.<p>

"I don't know...Zeke might remember but I never actually bothered to ask." Dean shrugs.

"And then what did you guys do?"

"Practiced like crazy! And when we weren't practicing, we were advertising the hell out of our band. It started off small, playing for a school dance here, playing for a relative's wedding there, but we did well enough to start securing gigs at local night clubs. One in particular, The Mystery Spot, was very instrumental in getting us our big break."

"How so?"

"That's where we first met our manager, Chuck," Dean smiles. "And where I first met Castiel."


	3. Chapter 3

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>January 17th, 1970<strong>

"Shiittt, I thought that crowd was gonna eat us alive!" Gabriel pants as he brushes his sweat soaked hair out of his face. Dean doesn't respond, just smiles at him and downs his fourth bottle of beer. That was the one benefit to working clubs; the pay sucked but the booze was free. The air backstage was stale and damp but it was easier to breathe away from the crowd.

"Some asshole tried to grab my leg, damn near tore the straps off my boots." Charlie grumbles in mock distress, the flowers in her hair wilted from the heat of the lights onstage. This is their sixth night in a row playing at The Mystery Spot and Dean can see the toll it's taking on his band; dark bags under their eyes, blisters on their hands. Dean doesn't dare speak because he knows all he'll be able to manage is a raspy whisper. Every day he questions why they're still doing this, but every night the roar of the crowd reminds him why he loves what he does. They've gained a small local following, it still surprises him whenever someone recognizes him in the grocery store or walking down the street. It's only a matter of time now before they'll be able to start playing their own songs, and then maybe get signed on for a record. That's all forward thinking though, Dean's already learned to just take it one day at a time.

"Someone looks like they could use another beer!" A singsong voice says from behind him. He whirls around to find Anna, his favorite waitress, poised with a new round of bottles held aloft on a tray. Ever since they first started playing for The Mystery Spot, Anna had been their number one supporter, cheering the loudest and always riling up the crowd. Not to mention making sure the band never had an empty glass. Dean silently thanks her as he takes another bottle and downs it in three mouthfuls. His head's already spinning but the need for relief from the heat outweighs the threat of the hangover he'll have tomorrow.

"I have someone I'd like you to meet!" She shouts over the screams that have started up from the crowd again, demanding an encore.

"Who?!" Dean asks curiously, he knows Anna has connections but no one important would be caught dead in a place like this.

"You'll see! Best go give them what they want or we'll never be able to get them out of here." She disappears through the curtain and Dean gathers up the group once more. They go back onstage to thunderous applause and Dean finds his energy level rising once more. They play Revolution and Twist and Shout, the only songs Dean is comfortable singing with the state of his voice. Even then, every note grates on his already raw throat and by the end of it it feels as though it's on fire.

They slink off the stage once more, heading straight out the back door to collapse in the cool night air. Dean breathes in deeply, hissing slightly at the sting it causes. To his left, Sam is being propped up by Ezekiel, both of them fighting to keep balanced in their inebriated state. Now that Dean thinks of it, he's pretty sure the only sober one of them outta the bunch is Charlie, who all refuses the beer with a disgusted look on her face.

"There you guys are! I was looking everywhere for you!" Anna's head pokes out through the backstage door and she steps outside, arms crossed against the cold. Following her out is a man with short browmn hair, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, and a boy around Dean's age wearing a similar outfit.

"I'd like you to meet my dad, Chuck! He's a producer with Celestial records. I told him to come along to the show tonight so he could finally see the band I've been raving about for months!" Anna clasps her hands together excitedly and Dean can feel a dull flush creeping up his neck as he looks around at the members of his group. They're in the presence of a high end executive, perhaps an arms length away from their own record deal, and they look like a bunch of washed out hippies. Which isn't too far off actually.

"It's nice to meet you, sir!" Dean says, frantically clearing his throat. His worst fears are confirmed, his voice is hoarse and weak.

"Likewise! You guys were phenomenal out there, it's been a long time since I've seen such energy up on stage!" Chuck exclaims exuberantly and the boy behind him rolls his eyes.

"Thank you, sir!"

"No need for that 'sir' stuff, just call me Chuck. Now, as you've probably already guessed, I'm here to talk business. If you guys are game, I'd like to sign you on with my label. It'll be a small contract to begin with, one record, maybe 8 tracks long, just to see how you guys pan out and we'll go from there. You do have your own material right?"

"Of - of course!" Dean had found a passion in writing that he didn't know was even possible for him. Most of it was crap of course, but their were a few songs he saw real potential in.

"Wonderful! I'll give you my number and you guys be sure to call me tomorrow morning and we'll set up a time to get you in the studio." Chuck hands Dean a small white business card which he stows carefully in the pocket of his leather jacket. Everything seemed to happening too quickly and Dean didn't have time to process whether or not this was a scam.

"Hold up! You really want to sign us onto your label? Some shitty little club band of teenagers?"

"You're exactly what I want. If you guys were twenty years older, I wouldn't give you a second thought, but you're young and have a lot going for you. I see a raw talent that can be built upon, developed into something great. I may not own the most well known label out there, but don't think for a second I'll sign on just anyone with a guitar."

* * *

><p>"Which was utter bullshit of course, in those days you could get a three record deal for just playing a tambourine. Seriously, I saw record companies tear people off the street because they saw them looking at an instrument! How do you think Rush got started?"<p>

Rachel clearly can't tell if he's lying or not so she's moves onto a different subject. "So, your first record deal and your first time recording in a studio. How was that experience?"

"It was intimidating to say the least. We didn't have much material, so we kinda just had to throw it all together in the two weeks before we actually started recording. The whole band was more or less living at Zeke's house so we spent everyday in his garage, just banging out songs, trying to figure out what worked and what didn't."

"Your most popular song off that album, 'Baby, You Set Me Free', did very well in its first week and the subsequent weeks after, earning it quite a lot of radio play..."

"Of course it did. It sounded like every other song out there at the time."

"You're not fond of it?"

"No, it definitely isn't one of my favourites. We threw it together in the course of two hours so naturally it would be our most popular. In my opinion, 'Raise Me From Perdition' was a better song. That one had been kicking around my head for awhile and Charlie came up with a killer guitar riff for it, it was just really well done."

"Well let's get back to the recording process. Tell me what it was like being in the studio!"

* * *

><p><strong>February 3rd, 1970<strong>

"Cut! Stop for a second, guys." Chuck says and Dean lets out a frustrated breath of air.

"What now, Chuck?"

"It's just...it's still not sounding right. Could we try again." At first recording had been a dream come true and the whole band had examined every inch of the studio, ogling at all the recording equipment, not quite sure what to do with themselves. When it came time to actually start their first song, they were so nervous an excited that everyone flubbed up their cues and Dean forgot the lyrics to the first verse. It quickly became tiresome though and this song in particular was causing a lot of trouble. Chuck could tell how important this song was to Dean, so getting it right was essential, but even then, it was getting old fast.

"We can take another break if you'd like?" Chuck offers up pleasantly enough but it irritates Dean to no end. They've already taken plenty of breaks, more breaks than they should have. Another one wasn't going to make a difference.

"Can I just get some more water?" Dean asks, running a hand through his already mussed up hair. In reply the door to the sound booth opens and Castiel walks in, bottle in hand. He was Chuck's son and the boy Dean had seen him with back at The Mystery Spot. He seemed like a nice enough kid but they hadn't spoken much apart from the occasional "Hey" or "Thanks". This time, however, Castiel hands him the bottle and leans in close.

"Don't over think this, Dean." He murmurs.

"Huh?"

"Don't over think the emotion. This is your song, sing it how you imagined it would be sung. Don't focus so much on what's gonna sound best with the other songs, with the rest of the album, focus on how you want this to be. Don't think just sing." Castiel gives him one last long look before heading back out again. Dean puts the untouched bottle of water beside him and looks over at the rest of his band. They give him the thumbs up signalling they're ready to go. Dean takes another deep breath before approaching the microphone once more.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"Are you sure? We can wait a bit longer if you'd like." Chuck says anxiously.

"Nope, I'm all good. Let's go!" Dean gives him a confident smile and Chuck relaxes slightly.

"Raise Me From Perdition Take 45!" Chuck announces before nodding at Dean and in the background he can hear the bass line begin. When it comes time for Dean to sing, he takes Castiel's advice and clears his mind. Right off the bat he can tell there's something about this take, everything is coming together perfectly. Without meaning to, Dean finds himself staring directly at the blue-eyed boy who looks back at him just as intently. And then all at once, the finishing chords are played and the song is over, he doesn't even need to look over at Chuck for validation; they nailed it. The rest of the group is high fiveing one another and cheering but Dean doesn't pay attention, he's still staring at Castiel who has the biggest grin on his face.

"Well boys and girl, that's a wrap! You have yourselves an album!" Chuck whoops loudly, it's a phrase he will repeat numerous times over the years but for right then it's the promise of something big. In that moment Dean knows they're gonna go far, he can't say exactly why he knows, he just does.


	4. Chapter 4

Whoops, school's making it a bit difficult to update as regularly as I'd like to but I'll try not to leave it this long again!

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>June 29th, 1970<strong>

"Dean, it's your dad. He says he wants to talk to you." Zeke shouts down to Dean's room where he's working on another song. Sam's with him and they just give each other a look. It's been a year and a half since they last saw their dad, since they last walked out of their home for good.

"Tell him to piss the fuck off." Dean replies causing Sam to flinch slightly. There's a slight hesitation from upstairs.

"Just talk to him, Dean. That's all you have to do." It's Sam who fills in the silence. Easy for him to say, dad doesn't want to talk to him. Dean swears low under his breath and heads up to the living room where Zeke is holding out the phone receiver. Dean takes it and holds it to his ear, not saying a word.

"Dean? You there?" His father's voice sends a wave of anger through him. His dad is the last person he wants to deal with right now, there's work to be done and he doesn't have time for this.

"Yeah, what do you want?" He makes no effort to hide the venom in his tone.

"I have something for you...For Sam as well. I was wondering if you guys could come get it."

"Why can't you bring it to us? Drop it off on the doorstep or something, we'll get it eventually."

"Please, Dean. Just come over." Dean sighs and hangs up with an unnecessary amount of force. Looking around the room he sees Zeke has left but Sam's standing at the top of the stairs, looking unsure of himself.

"What did dad want?" He asks tentatively.

"Get the keys to the van, dad wants us home." It's not technically their van, it's Gabe's, but the whole group more or less has unlimited access to it as long as they remember to fill the tank up. Sam doesn't question this request and does as he's told, within the next ten minutes they're there. It's so close by that Dean almost feels bad about not visiting more, that is, until they pull up to the driveway. There's a moving van out front, and numerous boxes piled up around the front porch. A sold sign is slapped over the for sale one on the front lawn and suddenly there's a lump in Dean's throat that won't go away. This was their home, even after the fire they built it back up, even though they didn't live their anymore, it didn't give their dad any right to just throw it away.

"What the fuck is this?" Dean yells at him as he exits the car.

"Dean!" Sam is close behind him and he can hear the panic in his voice.

"Don't you talk to me that way." The content look on his dad's face was gone in a second.

"Why not? You're selling our fucking house! You can't just do that without consulting us."

"Like hell I can't! You don't even live here anymore, it's not your decision, Dean."

"Like hell it isn't! Why? Why the fuck are you selling it?"

"Because I can't live here anymore. With you and Sam gone, it's too empty, there's too many memories, too many ghosts." His dad sounds defeated and his eyes drop to the ground.

"There's just one ghost, dad, just one." Dean can hear Sam's sharp intake of breath but he ignores it, his dad doesn't even react.

"I can't live with that hanging over me anymore, I have to move on, you have to understand that."

"And where are you gonna go? What's left for you out in the world?"

"I guess I'll go where the work's good. There isn't much business in town anyway." His dad steps off the porch and heads towards the garage. "Come with me, there's something I want you to have." The brothers silently follow him and step inside to a place where they both spent a good part of their childhood. Dean can remember sitting on the counter in the far corner, watching his dad work on old cars, trying to fix them up new again. Sam thinks back to the time his dad showed him how to fix the chain on his bike, using the old tool set that his grandfather used to own. Everything looks rusty and dated, apart from the shiny, black 67' Impala that stood up like a sore thumb. Dean can remember the day his dad bought it, it had been his pride and joy ever since.

Their dad busies himself with something in the toolbox and Dean pokes around the shelves lining the walls a little. Nothing here has been moved, his dad hadn't boxed anything up yet; he wonders if he even will.

"Here! A set for you and a spare for Sammy." Dean expects to see some tool pack in his dad's hands but there's only two keys.

"No way, you're giving us the Impala?" Dean chokes out, not quite believing what he's seeing.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's high time you and Sam get your own car instead of having to drive that junker around and besides, it won't do me any good on the road anyway. I don't think she's made for it." His dad gives him a strained smile and Dean takes the keys with shaking hands.

"Thanks, dad..." Sam murmurs and Dean can't bring himself to do the same.

"Sam, do you mind waiting outside for a minute while I talk to your brother?" Sam obliges and their dad waits until he's gone before he speaks again. "I know this doesn't make up for everything I've done but I hope it helps.."

"You should've been there more...After mom...You just stopped caring." Dean says quietly.

"I know, I didn't handle it like I should have. But you have to understand how much her death affected me.."

"It affected all of us! Sam and I needed you and you weren't there, you were never there. I was four years old, dad, Sammy was just a baby. You had no right to just up and leave us all the time, if it wasn't for Uncle Bobby, who knows how we would've ended up."

" I tried my best..."

"Bullshit you did! You could've done a lot better but you didn't. There's no changing that now so don't even try."

"I know I can't change the things I did but I can apologize for them. And I can hope that one day you'll find it in you to forgive me. I know it won't merit much but I care about you and your brother very much, I always have. You're still my sons and I'd do anything for you, you know that." John's no longer trying to compete with Dean's voice anymore and the silence that follows his words is deafening. Dean wishes more than anything that at that moment he could find the strength to hate his father; he truly does.

"I have nothing to say to that." Dean says honestly before shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the impala. "I'm gonna bring the impala 'round front. If you need to spew your bullshit to Sammy, do it now." Ignoring the look of hurt in his dad's eyes, he opens the garage door and slips inside the car, reveling in the sound the engine makes as soon as he turns it on. He parks behind the van and flips on the radio, not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts for too long.

"I don't fucking need this right now!" Dean says aloud as Bridge over Troubled Water filters through the speakers. "Load of crap if I ever heard it." But instead of turning it off, he reaches over and turns the volume up. It isn't long before he's humming along under his breath and searching through the glove compartment for a piece of gum. His hands brush a small box and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, without really thinking he lights one up and takes a long drag that ends in a massive coughing fit. Head swimming, he rolls down the window and holds the cigarette out, fully intending to drop it but also not surprisimg himself too much when he brings it back in for another puff. By the time it's down to the filter, his lungs are burning but it doesn't feel as bad as that first inhale. It's a feeling he thinks he could get used to.

Before long, there's a knock on the side of the car jerking him out of his thoughts. Sam's resting his arm on the top of the impala, looking as though he can't decide whether he wants to scream or cry.

"Were you smoking in there? Smells like an ashtray..." Sam says with only a slight break in his voice as he wipes his nose on his sleeve.

"Uhh, no...Are we ready to go?" Dean holds out the keys to the van and Sam grabs them all too eagerly. Watching his brother get into the van, Dean hardly notices when his dad walks over to his side of then car.

"Have you been smoking in here?" John asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Uh, no...But there is a pack of cigarettes in the glove box so that makes me think you have." Dean retorts staring straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his dad's jawntighten but he doesn't further press the subject.

"I, uh, I saw you guys play just a little while ago. I went to one of your shows..." His dad admits as though it's some great shame.

"Let me guess, you think we're wasting our time."

"Not at all, you guys did really well...I'm proud of you. You're making quite the name for yourselves. Just don't do anything stupid, and take care of your brother." Dean rolls his eyes and turns to add his two cents, but his dad is already walking away. It's the last time he'll talk to him until the hospital calls five years later. And even then, every once and awhile, Dean thinks he sees him at a few of their shows, watching from the back row, but he's always gone before the encore and never does admit to it.

That night, Dean sits alone in his room with a pen and paper and smokes the rest of the pack of cigarettes. By daybreak, he's written four new songs for the album.

* * *

><p>"What did your dad say to Sam? Did you ever find out?" Rachel breaks Dean out of his thoughts once more.<p>

"I tried to ask but he wouldn't say. Probably more or less what he said to me. I try not to dwell on it much." Dean leans back on the couch and rubs his eyes. They've only been at this for two hours and he's already exhausted.

"And then in 1975.."

"We'll get there."

"But for continuity's sake, don't you think we should talk about what happened?"

"We'll get there! A lot of stuff happened between 1970 and 1975, it really doesn't do my story any justice to skip ahead so many years! Take 1971 for example, that was a pivotal year for the band."

"How so?"

"For starters, it was the year Charlie became a flower child," Dean grins. "And it was the start of our revolution."


	5. Chapter 5

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>May 8th, 1971<strong>

"Please, Dean! Please please please! This could be good for us." Charlie pleads with him, her eyes shining with unabashed tears.

"I don't see how our band playing at a protest rally is good publicity. Not after what just happened...We can't risk it." He gently pushes her away from him and is met with the sad faces of at least ten more people. Charlie's hippie phase he can deal with, it's her hippie friends that tail her everywhere that are starting to drive him up the wall. It's bad enough that they're in the house 24/7, but they've recently started taking it upon themselves to make suggestions about what the band should and shouldn't be doing.

"Dean, your aura is so cloudy right now...Don't cloud it, Dean, let it breathe." One of the girl's in the group says dreamily, and he thinks her name is something dumb like Geranium or Gladiolus.

"Okay, cut the psychedelic crap, Gardenia. The answer is no and that's final. I don't need anything smearing our image right now." Dean heads back out of the basement where the air isn't heavy with incense and patchouli oil.

"Her name is _Gypsopilia_ and since when do you care about your image? Drop out with six bucks to your name, hardly high class, Dean. Maybe this is what we need to get our big break. Just think about it. Washington's got nothing on what we can do!" Charlie calls after him before she's pulled away to another meditation session. Dean chuckles to himself and heads in to the living room, a broad grin spreading across his face as he sees Cas and Sam engaged in a game of chess. The band wasn't big enough yet to require a whole lot of help with stage set up but they still needed a hand, so Cas had offered himself up to be then official stage hand and even Anna helped out whenever she had a day off.

"Did you hear what Charlie came up with as our next big gig?" Dean falls back onto the couch with a laugh. Cas and Sam exchange an amused look with each other and go back to their game. "Wait...You guys aren't seriously considering it."

"We all talked it out. It'd be fun! Plus it'll get our name out there big time." Sam says slowly.

"Our songs on the radio is what gets our name out there! Not some peace protest where we all sing Kumbaya and hold hands! Plus it's dangerous, they're arresting people left and right, they're tear gassing everyone! I don't wanna get involved in that shit." Dean chokes out in disbelief. "And where was I when you 'discussed' this?"

"Sleeping, as usual." Cas smirks. "And when was the last time your songs got a lot of radio play? I'm not saying your band sucks, you guys gave just hit a bit of a rut. You need this, you need to freshen up your act some." He's not wrong, their music isn't topping the charts as much as it used to. A new wave of bands is leaving them in the dust.

"So you're all for this? You guys are seriously gonna make me do this." Dean's jaw is in danger of dislocating if it drops any further.

"It'll be good for you. I don't know what happened, but somewhere down the line you shoved a stick up your ass and it's high time you pulled it out. Now lighten up and put on your bell bottoms, we have a war to stop."

* * *

><p><strong>May 9th, 1971<strong>

Dean had to hand it to Charlie, when all was said and done, she knew what was best. The group had played their set and , true to her word, the response was insane, people went crazy for it. So much so that after their sixth encore, the police showed up to shut the place down. As with any well meaning protest, no one backed down. Dean found himself lounging on the stage with a bunch of random people who decided to climb up their with him while the rest of the band dispersed into the crowd. He's leaning against Gabe's amp, refusing every joint that's passed around but accepting the odd cigarette. There's a haze over the whole area and the chants of the people are drowning out the police's voices. He can see children as young as five and people as old as eighty holding signs and marching around in tie dye shirts. Dean catches a brief glimpse of Charlie and she gives him a thumbs up as she makes her way to the front line carrying a bouquet of flowers. Everything is going well, until the screaming begins.

It was only a matter of time before things went downhill, given the events of the week prior, Dean is surprised the cops didn't do anything sooner. That being said, he's the first off the stage when the first wave of tear gas hits. The only thing on his mind is to get his band out of there as fast as possible before shit really hits the fan.

"Dean!" Zeke's pushed his way through to him and Dean breathes a quick sigh of relief; there's one member accounted for.

"Zeke! Find Gabe and get the gear into the van as fast as you can! I'll meet you there with the others as soon as I can get to them." He shouts over the roar of the crowd and is happy to see Zeke nod in response before heading over to the stage. Dean frantically shoves his way through to where he last saw Charlie and is almost kncoked to the ground when someone staggers into him.

"Isn't this fun?! I'm having fun! Fuck those cops, they don't know shit!" Sam slurs as he hangs onto his brother's shoulder for support. His breath reeks of alcohol and Dean's sure he's stoned out of his mind as well.

"Sam! I need you to come with me. We gotta find Charlie and get out of here before they arrest us." He tries to keep a hold of his brother but it's getting harder to as everyone around them presses against one another. A second wave of tear gas hits the crowd, this time much closer to where they stand, and Dean quickly shields his eyes against the spray. Immediately, people to his left and right start clawing a their eyes, a few are vomiting. It's then that Dean hears a scream that's distinctly Charlie's. He moves towards the front more, desperately trying to keep a grip on his brother's arm, but it's torn out of his grasp within seconds.

"GET TO THE VAN." He shouts hoarsely as his brother is swallowed up by the crowd. By some luck, Dean manages to find Charlie where she's curled up on the ground, clutching her eyes and screamimg herself hoarse. In one fluid motion he scoops her up into his arms and races towards the parking lot, praying that the van's all set to go. He races to the back of the stage and almost runs directly into Gabe, who is loading the last of their stuff into the back of the van.

"What hapened to her?!" Gabe asks as Dean places her in his arms.

"She got hit. We gotta get her out of here asap, everybody ready to go?" Dean looks around and does a quick head count of who's there. Along with Gabe and Charlie, Zeke is holding up Sam and Anna is already in the backseat.

"What about Cas?" Sam mutters, leaning heavily onto Zeke. Dean feels his stomach drop as he looks back towards the park.

"You guys go ahead, I'll get Cas. We'll find a cab and meet up back at the house. Just take care of Charlie." He tells as he runs off before anyone can object. Back in the crowd, he can feel his throat and eyes start to burn as the tear gas settles around him. The air is thick now, not just from that but smoke as well; so!ebody's burning a pile of American flags and Dean hears profanities being spewn and punches being thrown all around him.

"CAS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" He yells to no avail. His heart is pounding in his chest and he's more worked up and angry than he's been in a long time. The cops had no right shutting them down like this, hurting people like this, it had been a peaceful rally before they had showed up.

"Dean!" Cas' voice sounds far away and he can't tell what direction it's coming from. Just as he saw an opening to get a better vantage point, Dean was shoved back by a cop who was dragging a girl over to a lime up of several other people, all of who were either handcuffed, or in the process of being handcuffed. Instantly he spots Cas in amongst them, struggling with the officer who is pinning him down. Dean doesn't even think, he just strides over there and wraps his arms around the cop's shoulder, throwing him off of his friend without so much as a backward glance. Cas is up within seconds and they're off, running past the police cars, dodging all attempts to grab them. At some point Cas grabbed his hand and took the lead, heading down alley after alley, up side streets that Dean didn't know existed. He only stops when they hit a wall, literally. It's the back entrance to some grungy little bar and Dean collapses against it, his heart pounding, ears ringing; Cas is standing so close he feels his breath on the back of his neck and It stutters every once and a while until Dean realizes that Cas is laughing. He looks up to see tears streaming down his roadie's face as he clutches onto a dumpster to keep himself from falling over.

"What's so funny?" He manages to get out in between pants.

"You fucking assaulted a cop! Good thing you're a fast runner." Cas is wheezing now and has flopped down beside him.

"Son of a bitch! You were the one I was saving from getting arrested! You would've been arrested if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, but I didn't throw a cop down, worst they would've done is kept me over night and sent me out in the morning. All these arrests are just a statement to try and stop people from acting out, but can't they see? The levee's breaking, this is a new time, Dean. We're gonna look back on this moment in ten years and realize that this is when it all began, things are gonna change, the world is gonna be so different from here on out."

"You're high as shit, Cas."

Cas shrugs and stands back up. "Probably. Let's go get a beer and get back to the others before they start selling the equipment for bail money."

* * *

><p>"He wasn't wrong, we got angry, and we were gonna do something about it. It motivated us, our music, we became the generation that ushered in the new changes. And no one was gonna stand in our way." Dean cocks his head slightly. "And it gave us the boost we needed."<p>

"How so?" Rachel is totally enthralled with the story now, she stopped typing half an hour ago.

"Our music was being played everywhere. People were requesting our stuff so much that one day Chuck called us, absolutely ecstatic, and told us to turn on the radio and just flip through the stations. I swear to god, every single one of them was playing our stuff, it was surreal. Suddenly everyone knew our name and wanted to hear us play, we were getting calls for gigs all across the state, the country even. One little show at a protest and it was enough to hit the start button on our fifteen minutes of fame. We were living the dream, and our next step was right within our reach."

"Let me guess, you packed up your bags..." Rachel leaves her sentence hanging, a small smile on her face.

"We packed up our bags and hit the road. In time for the release of our new album, we started the first leg of our debut tour; The 'To Hell And Back Tour' of 1972.


	6. Chapter 6

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"The first tour, and I think anyone will tell you this, was the best. I'm not saying I don't like touring now, it was just such a new experience for us that nothing compares. We had the shitty bus and everything! For two months we lived in that thing and just had fun." Dean stabs the air to punctuate his point. "We had really no idea what we were doing though, it was all uncharted territory."<p>

"And bigger audiences than you were used to?" Rachel asks. She's back to typing now, probably thinking it wouldn't reflect well on her job performance to show up with half the story missing.

"That's an understatement. That first night we played for ten thousand people. For the first time it kinda resonated that hey, we had fans. People actually paid to see us and didn't just get the music as a bonus to their booze. We had merch made for us, there were posters, it felt like the whole nine yards. Hell, we had groupies! And not just Charlie's weird friends, actual groupies."

"Who'd you bring along on tour with you?" Rachel is clearly keen to move on from the topic of groupies.

"Not many people, it was the whole band, Chuck, Cas, Anna , who'd quit her job by then and became a seamstress for the band, and Benny, our bus driver/ bodyguard. He came with the bus." Dean laughs at his own joke. "And whatever girls we had picked up along the way, normally they traveled with us for a city or two before moving on to the next act."

"And you guys didn't murder each other by the end of it? The stress of all those long nights combined with confined spaces...Surely tensions were high."

"No, we genuinely enjoyed each other's company. We liked what we were doing. Nobody bitched at anybody over petty shit, we just didn't have reason to."

* * *

><p><strong>April 20, 1972<strong>

It was unusually hot for the time of year so the windows on the bus were opened as far as they allowed, they didn't dare even try the AC. The radio was going constantly, "Rocketman" and "American Pie" repeating so many times that when they reach Cleveland, the bus explodes with their voices as soon as they start to play. They're running on an adrenaline high fueled, in part, by the pills that then girls bring with them. Dean was never particularly drawn to drugs, but out of necessity he finds himself downing them by palmfuls before each show. He knew he'd burnout eventually, but for the time being it was the only way to function on a day-to-day basis.

"Well, boys and girls, here we are! At our first sold-out show, you will be playing for not five thousand, not ten thousand, but sixteen thousand people tonight!" Chuck announces and everyone erupts into cheers.

"In celebration, let's get wasted!" Gypsophilia slurs from where she's sprawled across Charlie's lap. Out of all their followers, she's the one who comes back the most frequently and Dena still can't decide if that makes him angry or not.

"Umm, show first and then you can do whatever you want. Let's not disappoint sixteen thousand people, Okay? Okay. Now everyone up, we have a lot of gear to unload and a very short time to unload it." Chuck claps his hands together eliciting a moan from everyone this time.

"One day, we'll hire people to do this for us!" Dean grumbles as he unloads the amps.

"Keep dreaming, Winchester. We'd actually need money for that." Zeke snorts.

"Stop your whining, you two! Look where we are! I'd never been out of Kansas before this and now I'm in Ohio playing with the band I thought was gonna fizzle out in two years. There are shirts with our faces on them! _Our faces!_ If that's not the coolest shit ever then you both can take a hike and I'll just do this on my own." Charlie smacks them upside the head with a drum stick before heading into the stadium.

"Dean! Can you grab the spare strings off the bus? I just snapped one!" Sam calls from the stage door and Dean rolls his eyes. Sam broke more bass strings than he thought was physically possible. He just had to look at them for too long and one would snap. He freezes outside the bus doors, he can hear the faint strains of someone singing and thinks Benny forgot to turn off the radio, but climbs up the stairs slowly all the same.

"_Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good." _It's Cas singing. He's digging through his duffel bag in the backseat and doesn't hear Dean approach. "_ I've been inclined to believe they never would. But now I..."_

_"Look at the night! And it don't seem so lonely. We fill it up with only two." _ Dean finishes with a grin and Cas slowly turns, a look of horror on his face. "I didn't know you could sing."

"I-I can't...I don't...I was just.." Cas flushes and drops the gloves he's holding.

"Dude, you're really good. Seriously, I'll get you on as a back up singer!"

"Please, no. I don't think I could handle that." It's funny seeing Cas all shy and nervous like this, he's normally even more outgoing than Dean.

"Alright, but promise me you'll do back up vocals on our next album. I just wrote a song that could use your voice."

"Dean..."

"We'll talk about it later. Now hurry up before Chuck yells at us for wasting time..._again_." They leave the bus just as Gabe pokes his head out to call them over.

"You guys have to come see this...it's so cool!" They follow him backstage and then out onto the main stage. It's a moment Dean never forgets. Just standing in the middle of this massive stage looking out on the scope of the room, just row upon row of seats stretching farther back than even he can see. And he can close his eyes and see all of them filled, the noise of the crowd is going to be deafening. Even when their crowds reach 100,000 people, nothing feels quite like that moment when they're standing on the brink of stardom.

Hours later, when it's finally time to perform, the wall of sound that hits them as they go back onstage is unlike anything Dean has ever experienced before. People of all ages are standing on their seats, screaming themselves hoarse. He can even discern their names being shouted, being sobbed, from every corner of the arena. As he takes his place by the mike and looks around at the other members of his band, he knows they're feeling exactly what he is.

_This is it. _He thinks to himself. _This is home._


	7. Chapter 7

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are greatly appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"You had several big successes following your tour in 1972, how did you feel about your newfound fame?" Rachel clearly hasn't done a whole lot of research.<p>

"We didn't have any newfound fame...We didn't get that for another couple years at least. Yeah we were getting pretty popular and our shows were selling, but we hadn't reached our big break yet. That's what it all became about, that big break that would shoot us up to the top of the charts. It didn't happen as quickly as we expected but I don't think it really got to anyone."

"You did well enough. In 1973 alone, you had 6 hit singles that, while not hitting number one, still dominated the charts. The predominant theme of your songs released at that time seemed to be love. What sort of mindset were you in that allowed you to write such powerful stuff?"

"I wouldn't say writing a bunch of love songs was odd for the time, I don't believe I was in any specific state of mind when writing. Sex, drugs, rock 'n roll, stick some love in there and you have the perfect formula for a song. We weren't the only ones putting out this love crap and I don't think that year was any different from any other year we released stuff. Supply and demand, we gave the people what they wanted."

"Uhuh." Rachel looks entirely unconvinced. "But the lyrics were so personal."

"Lyrics are personal, or, at least, the good ones are anyway." Dean allows himself a ghost of a smile. "But I can't take full credit for all the songs written, even though most of them are credited to me."

"What do you mean?"

"There's an unsung hero in the mix who has vehemently denied his involvement in the creative process for years. And that idiot is Cas. We could've had the whole Lennon-McCartney thing going on but he didn't want that. So I'll admit it, I'm a fake, some of my best lyrics are in fact from the featherbrained mind of Castiel and he's gonna kill me for telling you this."

"So you're saying Castiel helped you write some of your songs?"

"More than some. The year of the big hits that you were talking about and I interrupted was actually when he first started voicing his ideas. As a songwriter in his own right, he could've made millions, but he's a weird guy. He'll give you his world to try and help you succeed and expect nothing in return. He could've done anything with his life and yet he chose - he still chooses - to spend his time setting up the stage for our shows. I owe that man so much for all he's done for us throughout the years, I'll never be able to repay him."

"Sing the praises a little louder, he might not be able to hear you yet."

"Sorry, I'm getting a little off track here, it's just he truly impacted the material I wrote, no one can deny that."

* * *

><p><strong>March 14, 1973<strong>

"All I'm saying is that if only one of us is gonna be doing the grocery shopping, we gotta come up with a compromise on what's being bought." Ezekiel's got the grocery list for the week in his hands and even though he can't see it, Dean knows it's just a giant mess of crossed off items and edits.

"I don't see a problem with what's being bought." Charlie is sitting in the corner of their living room, idly strumming her guitar.

"That's because you're easy to please, but some of us can't live off of twenty packages of beef jerky and cookie dough ice-cream."

"So basically Dean and Gabe are not allowed to shop alone anymore."

"Correct."

"Well hold up here, I don't wanna eat salad for three meals a day. When you and Sam shop it's all vegetables and bean sprouts. I like some protein in my diet, thanks." Gabe interjects and Dean reaches over to high five him.

"God forbid you get a vegetable in you, Gabe. At this rate you'll be the youngest person in America who needs a pair of dentures because all your teeth are going to fall out from all the sugar you eat." Sam's pupils are massively dilated and Dean doesn't want to know what his brother's taken to make them do that. Gabe just smiles and pulls a lollipop out from under the couch, staring Sam straight in the eyes as he drops the wrapper on the floor and sticks it in his mouth.

"It disturbs me that you have a stash of those in one of the most disgusting spots possible." Ezekiel tells him before turning his attention back to the list. "Anyway, what I'm saying is that we can get a little bit of everything we want, just don't overdo it just to piss each other off. Neither our budget nor bodies can handle that right now. We especially can't afford the rum that's times by eight and underlined four times."

"Why not?" Dean sounds almost panicky.

"Because we don't need that much alcohol."

"But I'm almost out!"

"I just bought you a bottle yesterday, how is that almost gone already?" Luckily, saving Dean from answering that question, Cas arrives at that moment, announcing his presence not through words, but the slamming of the front door and scuffing of his shoes on the carpet.

"Hey Cas, what's the word?" Dean asks him, craning his neck to get a better view. Cas has a bulky messenger bag thrown over one shoulder that looks packed to the breaking point.

"A shortened version of my name," He says dully before upending the bag over the coffee table causing letters of all shapes and sizes to spill out onto it. " And also mail."

"Damn," Sam says with a low whistle, picking up a few." We got ourselves some fans."

"Now before I sort these out, any bets on who got the most?" Cas says as he starts shifting the pile into smaller piles.

"Easy, that'd be me. Chicks dig the man who can sing." Dean says without hesitation.

"I thought the saying was everybody loves the bassist?" Sam argues.

"Obviously you'd think that, but in truth, the drummer is the most popular." Gabe says smugly, gesturing to his toned arms.

"Nice try, Ringo. And all of you are wrong, it's the guitar players who get all the glory. Charlie and I will get an even tie." Zeke counters.

"You're half right. By a landslide, the guitarists win for most fan mail, but only because Charlie wins overall. She's got double what the rest of you have." Cas ends the debate swiftly and not so painlessly for some.

"Aww, this is all bullshit anyway, I'll look at these later. I'm gonna go work on some more music, Sam wanna come?" Dean tossed his stack aside and stood up.

"Be down in a bit." Sam was squinting at a picture someone had drawn of him.

"Never mind then. Cas? Don't leave me hanging, buddy."

"Sure. It'll be more entertaining than watching everyone read." Cas sprang to his feet as gracefully as a cat and followed Dean down into the basement. Cas takes a seat on Sam's bed and Dean feels strangely self-conscious about the state of their room. He tries to inconspicuously tidy up the clothes strewn across the floor but gives up as soon as Cas starts to take notice. Instead he perches on the edge of his bed and picks up his guitar, not hesitating to ask him whether or not his think a C or D chord will work better in the arrangement he's thought up. Before long theyre in a full blown discussion on the matter, heads leaned towards one another, sharing the last cigarette from Dean's pack. And then the lyrics start forming, Cas starting out by prompt in Dean's next line with a word or two, then gradually throwing out longer sentences until he alone has developed the entire chorus. By the end of it Dean has 7 pages in his notebook full of words and a tune in his mind that he can't wait to share with the rest of the band.

"What about a name?" Dean says, draining the last bit of whiskey out of the bottle beside his bed. Cas ponders this a moment, leaning back a little when he realizes he's a little too close to Dean.

"'I Need You.'" It's not exactly creative, the phrase is repeated several times in the song.

"Don't you think that's a little...simple?"

"Sometimes simple is better, Dean." Cas has lit up a joint now and Dean scrunches uop his noise at the acrid smell of it. After a while the edge is taken off of Cas' gaze and he sinks back into the pillows, tracing the cracks on the ceiling with his eyes.

"I need you." Dean repeats and Cas looks over, unsure as to whether he's stating a fact or talking about the song again. Later on he realizes that Dean never quite clarifies which exactly it was. "What do you think about you singing backing vocals for us?"

"Fat Fucking Chance, Dean Winchester!"


	8. Chapter 8

I apologize that some of my updates are a bit slow, but mideterm season is upon us and it's kicking my ass.

All rights belong to supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>September 14, 1975<strong>

"Dean." Right off the bat Dean should've known something was wrong. Sammy's voice has that low, watery edge to it that was ingrained in his mind as an alarm bell since childhood.

"Sammy, I'm a little busy right now, can it wait?" Dean is five whiskeys deep and has to literally untangle himself from the limbs of the girl he's with.

"Dean, it's dad...the hospital called." A nasty feeling jolts through him but the buzz of the alcohol numbs it significantly and he just snorts in derision.

"Let me guess, bar fight again. The stitches will be out in a couple weeks and broken bones heal, he really doesn't need flowers."

"Dean...he's dying." And just like that, the walls came down.

* * *

><p>"My dad died September 25th, 1975. I remember a lot about that day, but nothing important. All the little details overshadow the big ones. I remember hearing Black water by the Doobie Brothers playing on the radio, even now that song reminds me of him. And God, he was damn lucky it was Black water playing, could've just as easily been Rhinestone Cowboy." Dean laughs and clears his throat loudly.<p>

"I'm sorry for your loss." To her credit, Rachel _did _look sorry but her words are delivered mechanically. It's understandable, she's here to interview him not console him over the past.

"Better save those words for when you mean it. It was the first of a long line of shitty things to happen to me." Dean smiles a little but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Where was I? See what getting old does to me?...Right, September 25th, 1975."

* * *

><p><strong>September 25th,<strong> **1975**

There's machines that beep incessantly, and some that don't beep at all. A vase of flowers sits on the table, Dean doesn't know who brought them. Whitewashed walls, a white washed bed, and a white washed couch that Sam sits on with his head in his hands. All of this smack dab in Lawrence, of course the one place his dad would go to die. Like some ancient elephant burial ground. Dean thinks he'll die here too.

_Old black water, keep on rollin'_

_Mississippi moon, won't you keep shinin' on me?_

Dean wants to turn the volume up, anything to shut out the wheezing of his dad's breathing, something to drown out the thoughts poisoning his head. At the same time he wants to turn it off, because somewhere down the line this day will ruin this song for him. And hell, he liked this song too.

He and Sam got here five days earlier, it was all a blur of doctors and medical terms, kindly translated to layman's terms by a sympathetic orderly. Lung cancer. Stage IV. Already too late by the time he stumbled in. And only just now had they thought of calling his sons, when it was already too late for goodbyes.

_Gonna make everything, pretty mama_

_Gonna make everything, alright._

There would be no last words for John Winchester, he's been unconscious since they arrived and Dean secretly hopes that it's true that they can feel your presence. He just needs his dad to know that he's not gonna be alone when he goes. Dean wants to say something, anything, not just for his dad, but for Sam, who looks so defeated. Maybe more than he's ever been in his life. He didn't want to bring Sam here, wanted to protect him from this sight, from this day. Of course it was stupid, but he had been conditioned to do that since his brother was born.

_And I ain't got no worries_

_Cause I ain't in no hurry at all._

The worst part about being an orphan as an adult was no one took over taking care of you. You were expected to go home at the end of the day and take care of yourself. No one was gonna make you dinner or tuck you into bed at night because no one did that anyway. Thinking of the whole orphan prospect makes Dean's head spin a little. There's still so much to do; burial arrangements, funeral arrangements, the will. Dead people sure know how to put pressure on the living.

And Dean can't help but wonder, is his dad really worth all this? Was he a good dad? Yes. Was he a great dad? No. Would they forgive all his faults now when he finally passed? Probably not. At this point Dean just thinks it would probably be easier to bury him in the backyard with a little cross of sticks marking the place. God, he wishes he could hate his dad.

Sam's the one who finally turns the radio off and makes Dean realize just how quiet the room is. He can hear his own breathing, he can hear his brother's, and not much else. They have barely a moment to share a look before previously silent alarms begin to sound.

* * *

><p>"I think the hardest part about his passing was it didn't fit with how I thought he would die. II never saw my dad loiving to be an old man but I always figured he'd go out with a bang, you know, some car accident or stand off with a lowlifer. The man in that hospital bed was just not my dad...like he was possessed by some demon or something. It just wasn't him. I guess that's the nature of disease."<p>

"And how did his death affect you?" Rachel sounds like a psychologist now. Maybe she minored in it.

"Made me an asshole. I won't even deny it, I turned into a jerk. I didn't think it was affecting me, which was maybe the problem, I just buried everything beneath a layer of booze and women." Dean shakes his head. "I was such a dick, it's a damn miracle my band and friends stuck with me, they could've just as easily turned their backs on me and I would not have blamed them. But they supported through thick and thin and I'm damn grateful they did. I didn't deserve them, still don't!"

"Your change in reputation did coincide with your band's rise in popularity."

"Funny how that turned out. I guess it proves everyone loves the bad boy." Dean shrugs. "I don't actually think that had anything to do with it but it did change our image some. That was the weirdest thing, suddenly being popular. God that makes me sound so pretentious..."

"But it's true though. You guys have held pretty steady in the music world for the past thirty years. Most bands reach their peak and either break up or fade away into obscurity."

"The good ones don't! Sure it's more rare that we haven't had any change ups of who was in the band, but there were more than a couple of close calls. We had our ups and downs, I think every band does, maybe the difference was we just worked out how to ride out the storm."


	9. Chapter 9

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always greatly appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>August 15th, 1976<strong>

"Guys! Jimmy Page is here, I repeat, Jimmy Page is here and he just complimented my guitar playing!" Charlie comes crashing over to to where the rest of the band is, looking happier than he's seen her in a while. They're at their first major party and it's hard not to act starstruck when some of their biggest idols are just milling about, drinking punch and conversing with one another. Some times it's difficult to remember they're human too.

"Jimmy Page?! In this room?..." Sam looks torn between wanting to go chase him down or pretending like he doesn't care all that much. He casts a sideglance over to Dean.

"What are you looking at me for? You don't need my permission." Dean snorts and it's only seconds later that Sam takes off, closely followed by Charlie and Gabe to go drool over the legendary guitarist. Dean himself wishes he could come up with that kind of enthusiasm over the man, but the truth is he's only here because it'd be good for them and there's free booze.

"I think you have an admirer." Zeke whispers to him gesturing to their left with his head. Dean looks over to see a gaggle of giggling girls and further beyond that a face he recognizes. As soon as they lock eyes, the man makes his way through the crowd towards them, holding his martini high above his head as he squeezes past the girls.

"Ah! ! It's so nice to finally meet you." The man says in a crisp British accent, sticking out his hand for Dean to shake whilst completely ignoring Zeke's presence. Dean warily takes hold of it, he knows from other bands not too be too trusting of this guy.

"Same to you, Mr. Crowley. Have you met Zeke yet?" He gestures to his bandmate who offers his hand as well.

"Pleasure." Crowley says, barely sparing him a glance. "Now Dean, We have to talk business here. Supernatural is at the forefront of the newest wave of popularity and I want to make sure that you don't lose this opportunity. You will need my help if you want to be popular for the next twenty odd years."

"Only twenty years? You really don't have much hope for us." Dean smirks and is going to give Zeke an amused look but his guitarist has already left the conversation.

Crowley sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to be honest here, Dean. I see a lot of potential in you, more potential than I've seen in a while. But your band? I just don't see it. They're dragging you down. You can't expect to get anywhere if you don't _go _anywhere. Your sound is tired, you need a fresh start." As if to prove his point Crowley pauses mid-spiel as Sam's voice drifts over to them faintly from some corner of the room.

"I JUST DID A LINE WITH JIMMY PAGE!"

"You see Dean? Work with me and you'll get the career you deserve, not the one you've settled with. We could do great things you and I..."

"Im gonna stop you there, big guy. My band is not nothing without me, I'm nothing without my band. They are way more talented than I am, shit, they each had to master their instruments while all I do is talk into a microphone. Zeke, the guy you just blew off? He's never hit a wrong note once, that kid could play blindfolded. Gabe? He provides the perfect mix of a crazy beat without overpowering the rest of us, can't ask for more than that. Charlie? Jimmy Page said he likes her guitar skills. Jimmy fucking Page. If that doesn't speak miles about her ability, I don't know what does. My brother? I dragged him into this and he rose to the damn occasion beautifully. You'd swear he'd been born with a bass strapped to him. Every single one of them makes me a better musician and a better person and I'm not about to give that up. So if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go make sure Sam hasn't thrown up on Eric Clapton. Go find someone else to corrupt." Dean brushes past Crowley and storms off, his throat aching slightly with each step, and he finds himself sidling up to the bar and throwing back a couple of whiskeys before he's able to calm down some. He's just ordering a third when there's a tap on his shoulder and he turns around to see a rather terrified looking server.

"Uh, ? There's a man in the front lobby who's creating a bit of a disturbance and he claims to know you."

Dean frowns and hopes it isn't who he thinks it is. "What does he look like?"

"Umm, dark hair, blue eyes, I think? Wearing a tan trenchcoat over a..." Dean doesn't let the man finish before he's already sprinting down the staircase leading to the front entrance. Sure enough, Cas is holding onto a pillar for support and yelling at a group of bouncers who are slowly closing in on him.

"Fucking scum! If you'd open your eyes for once and give a shit about what's happening to our world then maybe we wouldn't have so many problems!" Cas is both screaming and slurring.

"Cas? What the hell are you doing?" Dean demands.

"Oh hey, Dean." Cas' voice immediately resumes it's normal tone. "I just wanted to come see what you guys were up to."

"I'll handle this, guys." Dean says to the bouncers who are eyeing him shiftily.

"Yeah, he'll handle this!" Cas agrees and promptly throws up on his shoes. It takes a grand total of ten minutes to drag Cas to the nearest bathroom and get him settled next to an toilet where he continues to empty the contents of his stomach.

"What the hell was that back there? You can't just show up here and attack everyone." Dean chastises him from outside the stall.

"People like them are the reason this world is so fucked up. They're not a part of the revolution, Dean, they're ignoring it!"

"What revolution? There is no revolution going on, that's a thing of the past. The war is over, there's nothing to be protesting right now."

"There's always problems, you just choose to look away from them. The world is going to shit and will continue to do so if we don't do something about it. What happened to you, Dean? What happened to the man who stood by me and punched a cop in the face? You've changed."

"I've changed? I've changed because I refuse to stay hung up on one protest that happened on one day like five years ago? Cas, where are you getting your lunacy from? I should be asking what happened to you."

"I met someone, his name's Metatron and he's shown me how things really are. We need to be the difference this world needs and you guys have the power to do it now. You're at the perfect time in your career to let people know the truth."

"I don't know what crazy drugs your new guru has been feeding you, Cas, but you really gotta stop and listen to yourself. All you're doing is regurgitating the empty lies that he's been telling you. None of what youre saying is making any sense to me. What is the 'truth'? What difference are we gonna make in the world? I don't even think you know what youre saying."

"You know, out of all my friends I thought you'd be the one to understand me, Dean. I knew everyone else would just laugh it off but I figured you'd have my back. That's why I came here, but now I see I've made a mistake." Cas wipes his chin off and Dean sees just how bad he actually looks; his hair is stuck up in all directions and his eyes are completely shot.

"Look at yourself, Cas. You're pathetic. I don't even know who you are anymore." Dean starts to head towards the door and Cas holds out his hand weakly to him.

"Dean, wait. Don't leave me." He begs and Dean grits his teeth, his hand on the door handle. Perhaps it's due to the amount of alcohol he's consumed, or even just the anger he's bottled up inside himself, but Dean makes the biggest mistake of his life and walks out the door to rejoin the party, leaving one of the best friends he's ever had alone on that bathroom floor.

* * *

><p>"To this day if you ask me what my biggest regret in my career was, it would be walking out on Cas that night. He needed me, he needed my help and I was just too big an asshole to see it. I just think of all the future problems I would've prevented had I just sat down and actually listened to him, and it kills me. Nothing was really the same after that." Dean says darkly, his gaze downcast.<p>

"Surely that's not true." Rachel replies meekly.

"It really is. And for years I believed that I wasn't at fault. If you're gonna fuck up, at least take responsibility for it."

"Well, as unpleasant as it is to end on a note such as that, we really should stop for the day. It's getting late and I'd rather we get an early start tomorrow then go too late into the night."

"Past your bedtime already? Sheesh, when I was your age, I barely slept."

Yes, well when you were my age, you stayed awake in fear that a Velociraptor would eat you the moment you let your guard down." Rachel retorts as she packs her bag and then immediately freezes, a look of horror passing over her face until she realizes Dean is laughing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

"I'm glad you did! I was beginning to wonder if you were actually a human being until now. There's no need to be so formal around me, I wouldn't have made it far in this world if I wasn't able to handle a couple jabs at my age." He sees her to the door, still with a slight grin on his face.

"You bring the worst out of me, Dean. I'll be swearing like a trucker and jamming out to Black Sabbath by the time this article is done." Rachel mock sighs as she slings her bag over one shoulder.

"That's all I aim to accomplish with these interviews."

"Goodnight, Mr. Winchester, try not to stay up too late reminiscing. Best save it for tomorrow." Rachel says and gives a quick wave before heading to her car, making a great show of blasting some jangly new pop song as she drives down the street. Dean shakes his head before closing the door and going back to the couch, sinking into it and immediately closing his eyes.

He'd never admit it to her, but it's past his bedtime too.


	10. Chapter 10

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Iboughteverysingleoneofyouralbumsonituneslastnight." Rachel says in one big breath as Dean opens the door to let her in the next morning.<p>

"Huh?" It's too early to try and decipher what she's just said.

"Supernatural's albums. I bought them all. Last night." She repeats, slowly this time, and Dean notices the dark circles under her eyes.

"And you listened to them all?"

"Not entirely. I listened to the first four last night and made it through half of 'The Family Business' on the drive out here."

"And?" Dean smirks, leaning against the door frame.

"Rock is definitely not my genre of choice." She says proudly, her smile widening as his ego deflates a little. "But it reminded me a lot of my dad, he used to listen to some of your stuff on long trips."

"There had to have been at least one song you enjoyed." Dean wheedled , leading the way into the living room.

"Okay, props to 'Free Will' and 'Driver Picks the Music' for being the most beautfiul, underrated songs you guys did. You dont hear people talk much about your acoustic work all that much and frankly, it's some of your best. What was your inspiration for those two in particular?" Rachel takes her seat across from him and accepts the steaming mug of coffee he offers.

"Well, one is quite simple and the other is more complicated," Dean begins, seeming more pleased than he was a few minutes prior. "'Driver Picks the Music' was solely written as an ode to all those long nights on the road. Something you could just turn on low in the background during some long road trip in the dead of night, real easy listening. 'Free Will' came about as a sort of last ditch attempt to pull the band back together when we almost fell apart. It was remind each other why we did what we did, what so easily gets forgotten in the grand scheme of things. To reconnect us with that passion for music that started us off in the first place."

"Did it work?"

"More or less. There were still a lot of rough edges to be smoothed over but we're still a band aren't we?"

* * *

><p><strong>February 3rd, 1977<strong>

The recording studio had always been as much their home as any apartment they had. It wasn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination but it was cozy and the birthplace of all their albums. Chuck usually had a few groups rotating through there so sometimes Dean would go down to the office and find one of his band members listening in to a session, just hanging out and offering assistance where needed. Everyone just enjoyed being there.

Dean can't remember the exact moment that things changed but he does remember the day he realized it. They're trying to record what Chuck is a keen on releasing as their next single, something to get them at the top of the charts again after a bit of a lull. It's not working out. The sound is off, the bass line is muddy, the vocals are weak, and everyone is frustrated. Dean can hear the anger in Chuck's voice every time they do a take and he says "Now let's try this again."

He doesn't even know what number they're on.

It's not just this recording session that's going bad, it's everything. Their newfound popularity is putting more stress on them to be better in all aspects of their lives. Chuck was adamant that they don't give themselves a bad reputation, but trying to stay on the straight and narrow under complete scrutiny was not always easy, and not even what their band was about. Dean wasn't even sure he knew what their band _was_ about anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Charlie open her mouth as if to suggest something, and then shut it again quickly, looking like some sort of obscure fish out of water. She has been doing this frequently ever since their last show bombed, but had yet to actually pipe up about what was bothering her. It hadnt been fully their fault that they had done so badly, the sound was off and the crowd just wasn't feeling it that night, but if they had been better then maybe it would've been enough to save it. They didn't need the critics' reviews the next day to tell them they sucked, they already knew that.

And now Dean can see the strain in the band, their personal lives bleeding into their work. Dean's drinking more than ever, Sam is never not hopped up on cocaine, Zeke's girlfriend Hannah is pregnant and he's not ready to marry her yet, Gabe's just fed up with everyone's fighting, and Charlie is waging some sort of internal battle with herself and she won't yet confide in Dean about it. They're not going through any struggle that any other rock band hasn't dealt with before, but they can't quite figure out how to get a handle on it. It won't be long before someone storms out the door and it's all over.

It doesn't help that Cas hasn't been around to help them in ages, every since that one party he's become completely withdrawn and Dean can't remember the last time they spoke more than two words to each other. Cas' seat beside Chuck is empty today, he didn't even bother to show up.

As Dean looks around the room he realizes this is it, this is the make it or break it point for them. Either he does something now or what they have is going to be lost, and he's not ready to give that up yet. They're not gonna go the way of the The Beatles, he's gonna make damn sure of it.

"Hey Chuck, can we scrap this song for a bit and try a different one?" Deans asks and Chuck's face falls slightly; he was really hedging his bets on this one.

"Yeah, okay. What do you have in mind?"

"I've had one floating around my mind for a little bit so I'm gonna need Charlie and Zeke on their acoustics, Sam, sorry dude, you're on piano duty, and Gabe is gonna have to tone it down a little bit." Dean explains and everyone looks at him like he's crazy. This is not them, they don't do accousitc numbers. It's come up as an idea before, but was shot down pretty quickly.

"Can we at least practice this for a bit? You're expecting us to record a song you've just whipped out of your hat." Charlie says skeptically as she tunes her guitar. Deans asks for a half hour break and then the whole band gathers into a circle to work the song out. Dean knows what he wants it sound like and it's pretty clear that the band agrees with him on it. By the time the day is over, all the parts have been recorded and Chuck's smile returns to his face as he listens to the playback. It sounds like an apology, more so for what they've done than for who they are. To Dean it feels like a bandaid on their career, a temproray fix to hold them together just a bit longer. He wants to call it that but Charlie smacks him for suggesting it.

"What about 'Free Will'?" Sammy says quietly after they've listened to it for a fifth time.

"Who's Will and why must we free him?" Gabe quips and a collective groan follows.

"Not what I meant, you ass."

"I like it. Free Will...Team Free Will...it's like our own alternate ego." Charlie says tapping a finger against her lips.

"So basically, our very own Seargant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?" Zeke snorts.

"Three cheers for Team Free Will!" Charlie yelps.

"Well, you've hears the band, Chuck, release it. This is our new single." Dean says clapping a hand on their producer's back.

"You can't release this as a single..." Chuck looks scandalized.

"Why not? Just do it." Dean doesn't care if people love or hate this song, for once it's not for them. This is for the band, for the only family he has left. It's for the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to carry on just a little bit longer.


	11. Chapter 11

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>June 9th, 1977<strong>

"You guys are on in an hour, Dean. Just a heads up." Benny pokes his head into Dean's dressing room and Dean gives a slight nod to acknowledge that he's heard. There's only a slight pause and then the door opens once more and it's Benny again, with a slight grin on his face. "Uhhh, it seems you have a visitor. Should I let him in?"

"Who is it?" Dean cranes his neck to get a better view but can't see around Benny's shoulder.

"A high end reporter for a major magazine." Benny replies and Dean feels a rush of annoyance. Benny knows better than to let reporters backstage, especially not into Dean's dressing room. But the next minute he steps aside and standing behind him is a nerdy looking kid clutching a pad of paper and a pen. Dean thinks the boy can't be older than sixteen and he's shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking as though he can't believe he actually got this far and now doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

"And what magazine are you with? Rolling Stone? Can you get us on the cover next week?" Dean teases and the kid flushes bright red.

"N-no. I'm doing a concert review for my school paper and I thought it would be really cool to get a couple statements from the band...I would really help my mark.." The boy stammers and Dean laughs.

"Well come have a seat then. I think I can manage a couple of statements before the show starts." Dean beckons the boy over with one hand and Benny has to give him a slight push before he actually crosses the threshold, wincing slightly as though it was overwhelming to be in his presence.

"Thank you so much, this will be very quick, I won't take up too much of your time, I only have a couple of questions." The kid scrambles to the chair that Dean's pulled out for him and frantically digs through his messenger bag, pulling out a beat up tape recorder with a school crest stamped on the top.

"What's your name?" Dean asks as he seats himself so that his chest is pressed up against the back of his chair and he's able to fully face the boy.

"Kevin Tran, I'm a really huge fan of your guys' band by the way, I have all your albums. You don't mind being recorded do you?"

"Not at all," Dean says laughing. "Kevin Tran the Super Fan! Well, what do you want to know?"

"With the release of your latest album, it's become clear that a lot of your songs have moved away from the theme of love that dominated a lot of your earlier work, and even the ones that are about it have more overtones of anger and sadness than what we're used to hearing. Is there a reason behind this?" Dean is blindsided by the question. He was expecting a "what's your favorite colour?" at most.

"I wouldn't say there's a reason for any differences between what I've written in the past and what I've started writing now. I dunno, guess I'm just sick of love songs, that's all." Dean shrugs and Kevin nods slowly before scratching something down on his notepad.

"And who, or what, influences your writing? Past or present."

"No one particular person so far. I find it funny whenever I do release a love song, sometimes the girlfriend I have at the time will say 'oooh that was written for me wasn't it?' when in reality, I got the idea from some movie I watched. I don't limit myself to basing every song off of one or two people, it can be anyone from my band, any one of my friends or family, hell even the cashier who rings through my cigarettes. Basically, my muse is fair game to whomever can spark my interest at that point in time."

"Vague yet detailed, so very like you, sir." Kevin answers and Dean cocks his head at him.

"What?"

"Nothing! Don't mind me. Last question, where do you see the band in twenty years?"

"Twenty years? Still on the road! I can't predict the future but there aren't any immediate plans to slow down, I guess it all depends on how much longer we can put up with each other. But yeah, I'd like to think we'll still be a band, maybe get ourselves a star on the walk of fame." Dean laughs again.

"I won't keep you any longer, thank you so much for your time, , I'm very excited for the show tonight and I promise to only write the best about your concert." Kevin gushes as he packs up his bag.

"What kind of review would that be if you only write what I wanna hear? Write honestly , Kevin, it'll get you farther." Dean claps a hand on his shoulder. "What's your seat number?"

"Section 234 Row F Seat 45." He knows it off by heart.

"Hmmm that's pretty far back, the sound will be alright but not totally condusive to writing a proper review...The only place I can think of that will really allow for the perfect conditions is beside the stage. You wouldn't mind watching the concert from there would you? I mean, I'm only thinking of what's best for your grades here." Dean says with a wink and Kevin looks as though all his greatest dreams have come true.

"Are- are you serious?" Kevin's jaw is in danger of dislocating.

"Why wouldn't I be? When I was your age, I'd always dream up these crazy scenarios that would end up with me getting to be backstage at a Jimi Hendrix concert. Any concert really, the idea of it was just insane. I figure even if I couldn't ever experience that, why should I deny other people to? C'mon, let's go find Benny and he'll get you settled in and out of the way."

* * *

><p>"I KNEW IT!" Rachel shouts and then composes herself quickly.<p>

"What?"

"You weren't as big a douchebag as you make yourself out to be! Look at that, not many rock stars would allow some kid into their dressing room for an interview let alone get them the VIP seats!"

"He reminded me of myself! I wasn't about to get my band a bad review either..." Dean snorts. "And is that really what you took out of that story?"

"What was I supposed to be getting out of it?"

"You know what? Never mind, you'll figure it out eventually. Moving on, 1977, there was a lot more to it than inaccurately interpreted interviews. I hate that you're only gonna get one side of this next bit, but Sam really doesn't like talking about it much. I don't either for that matter."

* * *

><p><strong>July 18th, 1977<strong>

"Where's Sam? We kinda need our bassist if we're gonna do this show..." It's the last leg of their tour and theyre all getting pretty burnt out so Dean just figures Sam is napping in a corner somewhere and shrugs in response to Chuck's question.

"He said he was taking a smoke break." Charlie says as she wraps herself in scarves and shawls à la Stevie Nicks.

"And how long ago was this?"

" 'bout an hour and a half ago."

"And nobody thought to check on him?" Chuck looks around the dressing room exasperatedly; Charlie is standing in front of the mirror, Anna is on the floor sewing a button back on Dean's shirt, Dean himself is standing by the refreshment table, his seventh drink of the night in hand, Zeke is reading a newspaper, and Gabe is gently tapping on the coffee table with his drumsticks. They all look guiltily at one another.

"Give the kid a break, he probably just went for a walk or something. It's pretty stuffy in here." Gabe stifles a yawn.

"We don't have time to give him a break! You're on in half an hour, your opening act is almost done. Dean, I expect you to find him and be back in this room in twenty minutes, got it?" Chuck glares at Dean before exiting the room with a dramatic door slam. He doesn't get mad often, but when he does, Dean finds it hilarious.

"You heard the man, I'll be back in a few." Dean follows Chuck out, pretending to stomp angrily as he does so. Slipping past the security in the hall, Dean heads out the back door and breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the warm night air hits his face. Gabe wasn't wrong about it being stuffy backstage. He circles around both sides of the building, keeping his head down while keeping an eye out for his brother. It shouldn't be that difficult, the man's a fucking Sasquatch.

"Hey, have you guys seen a tall man around here? Long brown hair, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans?" Dean asks a couple of girls who are sitting on a bench, huddled around a cigarette and speaking in low whispers.

"Oh. My. God. You're Dean Winchester!" The one on the right squeals and her companion kicks her in the leg.

"No we haven't, sorry!" The other one says with an apologetic smile. They offer him a cigarette and he accepts it gratefully, smirking slightly as the one who recognized him lights it with shaking hands. He winks at them and continues on his search, mentally kicking himself for not getting their phone numbers.

After twenty-five minutes, he's smoked it down to the filter but there's still no sign of Sam. Feeling frustrated, Dean heads back into the dressing room, not saying a thing as everyone looks at him expectantly.

"Well?" Anna asks, putting down the pair of jeans she's patching.

"I dunno where he went. Can't find him anywhere." Dear avoids looking at her directly. He doesn't want them know he's starting to get worried.

"Shit, Chuck's gonna flip. We're supposed to be going on in five minutes." Zeke swears softly and everyone shifts in their seats uncomfortably. At that moment another roadie of theirs pokes his head through the door.

"Dean, there's a call for you in the office. It's Sam." The guy doesn't look happy and Dean's heart sinks further. He takes the phone call in the next room over and isn't expecting what he hears.

"Hey, Dean. I, uh, I need your help." Sam sniffles, he sounds like he's been crying.

"You don't sound so good, man, where are you?"

"Umm, I'm...I'm in jail, Dean. Theyre not letting me go until someone can come bail me out." Sam admits shamefully and Dean closes his eyes, letting out a heavy breath of air.

"Why?"

"I tried to score some coke before we started...and I got caught."

"I thought you stopped that months ago?"

"I tried, I really did. I'm sorry, I just fucked up, okay? Please, just come get me, I swear I'll make it up to everyone." Dean's hear enough. He hangs up the phone and drops his head into his hands. He gets about two minutes of peace before the door is thrown open, banging loudly onto the wall.

"C'mon, you are starting now, don't waste anymore of my audience's time!" It's the manager of the arena, closely followed by Chuck and the now sheepish looking roadie.

"But we can't go on, Sam's in jail!'

"So I've heard. Don't worry, we have a replacement bassist for you, chop chop!" The man's curt tone is starting to get on Dean's nerves.

"No, nobody wants to come to see a replacement bassist in the band, they came here to see Sam Winchester! We are not going on without him, I'm going to get him right now." Dean tries to brush past the manager but he blocks the door.

"You'll do as I say or you won't get paid. I don't care who's in the band, I care that someone plays when they're supposed to!"

"It'll be good for him, like a wake up call. We'll get him right after the show, Dean, I promise. He needs this, before he destroys himself anymore." Chuck says reassuringly, trying to soothe Dean's nerves.

"Make your decision, young man! Either you do what you're supposed to, ornI make sure you never play here again!" Dean takes one look at the manager's smug face and makes his decision instantly.

* * *

><p>"As it turns out, we never did play there again, not after that night anyway. We still did the show, just forty five minutes late. That arena shut down a couple years later, other bands had the same problem with that guy's attitude as we did. He couldn't get any business."<p>

"But you did get Sam right?" Rachel looks horrified at the alternative.

"You think I would leave my brother alone in a jail cell while we jammed out? Are you crazy? The whole drive to get him, I couldnt help but think of what I did to Cas at that party and how I wasn't going to do it to anyone ever again. I couldn't just push people away like that, not when they needed me. Not that I didn't continue to do so in years to come.

We didn't speak the whole way back though, not a single word. Sam thought I was angry with him, but I wasn't, I was mad at myself. I was too blind to see how bad it was getting with him, every time I asked how he was doing, he'd say he was fine and I wouldn't question it. I didn't believe him, but I was so scared that everything was gonna fall apart that I had no choice but to believe him. It was stupid of me, I was so stupid and selfish and hypocritical. There I was the next day, driving my brother to rehab while I myself was drinking like there was no tomorrow. But I didn't want to say I had a problem either and risk losing everything...When you're on top of the world, the idea of going back to the way things were before is just not appealing." Dean finishes his rant with a humourless laugh. "Yeah, 1977 was a hell of a year."

"Good thing you met Lisa." Rachel has a twinkle in her eye as she says this.

"Lisa walked into my life wearing a Van Halen T-shirt singing 'Stairway to Heaven' and she couldn't have done it at a better time. If anybody had told me just how much of an impact she was gonna have on my life, I wouldve called them crazy. As it was, she was the first steady girlfriend I'd had since 1973 and she did not deserve me in the least bit. I still feel bad for all those years I wasted her time when she could've been with the man she deserved. But still, I'm so glad I got to know her." Dean says with pure adoration I'm his voice. "1977 was a hell of a year, and Lisa was, still is, one hell of a great woman."


	12. Chapter 12

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>April 9, 1978<strong>

It was a frantic call from Anna that brought Cas back into Dean's life. It couldn't have come at a worse time; the band was on a much needed break from both touring and writing and he was just days away from a vacation that he and Lisa had been planning for several months. He loved being with her, whenever they were together he could just forget all about work and lead a fairly normal life. She preferred to stay out of the spotlight while giving him free reign of doing whatever he needed to out on the road. All in all, in Dean's eyes, she was perfect.

"Dean? It's Anna, I could really use your help!" Her voice is breathy and low in Dean's ear after he's begrudgingly answered the phone after the third ring.

"What's going on? Why are you whispering?" Lisa gives him a questioning glance and points to the phone. He shrugs in response.

"Dad's in the other room and I don't want him to know I've called you...I don't want him to know anything about this at all, actually. He still thinks Cas is on a retreat in the Andes."

"Wait, this is about Cas?"

"Yes, remember that Metatron guy Cas met a while back?" Dean does remember, and visibly flinches when he realizes "a while back" was almost two years ago.

"Yeah...What did he do?" There's a note of dread in his tone now as he stretches out each word.

"He's sucked Cas into some weird cult thing and I'm really worried. He stopped returning my phone calls a couple weeks ago and he didn't sound so good when I spoke to him last. Please, Dean, I need someone to go with me to make sure he's okay. I figured you were my best bet since you guys are so close." Dean doesn't have the heart to tell her that they've haven't been on speaking terms as of late.

"Sure, Anna, I'll go with you. Where is it?" Dean makes sure to be as falsely confident as possible.

"Just outside of town, we can go right now! I'll be right over." She sounds relieved as she hangs up the phone and Dean slowly turns to face Lisa.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I gotta go help Anna. I know I was gonna help you pack but I promise I'll do it after." He begins and she shakes her head at him.

"Don't apologize, it sounds like Cas needs you. Take all the time you need, I'll be okay folding socks by myself." She winks at him and he goes over to give her a kiss. Within the next ten minutes Anna is bolting up the front steps and then they're off.

Dean can feel his chest tightening as they get closer to the compound. He really has no idea what they're gonna find when they get there, and Anna doesn't even have a clue. Trying not to thinkmtommuch about a Manson type scenario, he drives past the chain link fence and parks on the overgrown lawn. The compound is more or less comprised of ten or so falling down shacks with what looks like an outdoor kitchen and scummy pool just behind them. A dozen people wander around the lawn aimlessly while a few more poke their heads out of windows and point at clouds. It's not all that threatening, they look too high and happy to do anyone any harm. Walking past a girl weaving a dream catcher out of shoelaces, they head to the biggest building, hoping Cas will be inside. He isn't, but what they find in there is weird enough to make them think twice about checking any of the other shacks out.

The walls are painted like psychedelic sunsets, a fading mix of colors that don't quite all go together; mustard yellow, fuschia, maroon, lime green, cyan, and a very violent shade of orange. The floor is almost bare except for a few dingy mattresses with the springs sticking out. There's a pile of mouldy dishes in one corner, and a bunch of mismatched articles of clothing in another. About nine people occupy the space, lounging on the mattresses in various states of undress while smoking joints. Anna's already backed out of the room and Dean quickly follows suit, nobody else seems to realize they were even there.

"What are we gonna do? How are we supposed to find him in this place?" Dean hisses at her while they walk to the next house.

"Shit, I don't know! I didn't expect it to be this gross..." Anna shudders and then points to one of the shacks that seems to be centered in the middle of the rest. The grass around the outside is shorter as well. "Let's check there, if we can't find Cas then maybe we'll find the leader or someone who can tell us where he is."

They head over to the main house and barge in without even a thought about knocking. It's almost as if this house is disconnected from the very place it resides in. In stark contrast to the nauseating array of colours everywhere else, the design of this one reminds Dean more of a college dean's office more than anything. Dark wooden bookshelves line the walls of the front room and a large desk sits in the middle, an old type writer perched on it. A couple doorwya slead off into rooms that they can't see, as does a large spiral staircase, but he imagines the rooms would be decorated in much the same fashion. Perhaps the most surprising of all is the middle aged man seated behind the desk; he definitely looks like he'd belong in a college dean's office.

"May I help you?" The man asks in an oddly nasally tone and Dean automatically dislikes him.

"You're not Metatron are you?" Dean asks in mild disgust.

"The name's Marv, actually, some of my followers have taken it upon themselves to give me a new moniker it seems." Metatron smiles not unkindly.

"You run this joint?" Another look of disgust.

"Yes I do. You can sneer all you want, Mr. Winchester, but I think you'll find I have quite a respectable fan base."

"You know who I am?"

"Who doesn't! Your voice is clogging up all our airwaves. It's because of you that we had to start up our own radio station so your influence doesn't poison the sect." He speaks the sort of crazy talk that Dean is expecting of a cult leader.

"Ah yes, the devil is within me or something like that. Whatever crap it is that you believe." Dean rolls his eyes at Anna who stifles a laugh behind her hand but doesn't quite manage to get the fear out of her eyes. He doesn't blame her, there's something about this place that gives him the creeps.

"You don't really think I believe that do you? I don't, you sure don't, in fact, most normal people don't. But those aren't the kind of people we have here. No, you see, Dean, my followers are the people so lost in this world that they'll believe anything. It's so easy to suck them in, make them do anything you want. All you have to do is not sound crazy and you can have the world eating out of your hand in no time. How do you think advertising companies do so well? Prey on the weak and the rest just comes naturally." Megatron gives them a disturbed sort of smile and Dean doesn't entirely believe that this man isn't a nutjob like he'll have them think.

"Look, I don't care what sort of fucked up mumbo jumbo you're feeding this people, we're here to get someone. His name's Castiel, ring a bell at all?"

"Castiel? Hmm, why I do think we have a man here with that name, I'll have to check though. Try all you want to get him to leave, I don't imagine he'll go anywhere. Nobody does." Metatron shuffles off through one of the side doors that Dean now sees is to a kitchen. After conversing in low voices with someone in there, he reappears with a smile on his face.

"Follow me, if you will. He's just doing dishes right now." They walk through the back doors and out past a few other buildings, headijg straight for the furthest one away from them. The silence is only broken by Megatron's cheerful humming and Dean finds he has to clench his fists to avoid throttling the guy. Eventually they reach the house, just as dingy as the first, and Megatron pushes them inside. The walls are that same awful mix of colours, but this time adorned with a number of strange symbols that Dean can't identify. All that that there is in the space is a group of fold-out tables covered in dirty plates, and a rusty old sink attached to one wall. Standing in front of it, humming softly, is Cas. At first he seems to be the picture of health, but it's only when Dean steps forward to get a better view and Anna lets out a sobbing breath of air that it becomes clear how messes up he is. Right away Dean notices something odd; Cas is is really only giving the illusion of washing dishes. He's scrubbing the same plate over and over again, picking at non existent flecks of food, dumping it back into the soapy water, and then pulling it out to repeat the whole process. His trench coat is caked in dirt and numerous unidentifiable stains, but worst of all is the smile he gives Dean when he finally notices them; it's hollow and empty. He's staring right through him, not at him.

"What the fuck did you do to him?!" Dean snarls, slamming Metatron up against the wall.

"Me? How is it my fault that angel dust is his drug of choice? I only gave him the means to use it, he took the first hit himself." Metatron has a sick smile on his face, not unlike the one Cas is still giving Dean. Dean has to physically restrain himself from punching him right in his smug little face. Taking a deep breath, he release his hold on him and steps back.

"I think it's time we head out. C'mon Cas, we're going home." Perhaps it's a good thing Cas is as high as he is, in his current state of mind he's very compliant. Without saying a word, he allows Anna to put her arm around his shoulders and lead him out the door. Dean starts to follow them but Metatron's voice stops him.

"Don't you know a lost cause when you see one?" This time he doesn't hold himself back.

The ride back to Anna's house is uncomfortable to say the least. Dean tries to turn some music on but halfway through Working-Class Hero Cas starts grinning again so he shuts it off. He can't even look at him, Cas' eyes keep twitching back and forth in rapid lines. And then, when they're just about home, Cas finally realizes what is going on and starts to panic.

"Take me back." It's a direct order to Dean who flinches at the venom in his voice.

"Not in a million years, buddy. I think you've had enough hippy cults for a lifetime." He's startled when Cas reaches over and tries to grab the steering wheel.

"Take me back now!"

"So they can poison you with more bullshit views on life? So you can overdose on PCP and die on some bug ridden mattress? I don't exactly think too highly of you right now but I'm not about to let that happen."

"And why even bother if you don't give a shit about me? I'm worthless, Dean, there are a lot more important problems in the world right now and yet you concern yourself with my wellbeing. I'm nothing, you should've just left me behind." Cas spits and then slides down into his seat. Dean is at a loss for words and in the backseat Anna has started noisly sobbing. The last leg of their drive is passed in complete silence and as soon as theyve stopped outside the house, Dean keeps his gaze straight out the windshield. Cas clenches his jaw and then exits the vehicle, swaggering up the front steps whilst singing at the top of his lungs.

"Dean, will you come in with me?" Anna's voice is so small that it's almost drowned out.

"A WORKING CLASS HERO IS SOMETHING TO BE."

"No, you're a big girl, you can handle him." Dean doesn't want to be here anymore. There's a case of beer waiting fore him back home and all he wants is to forget today ever happened.

"A WORKING CLASS HERO IS - ANNA! If you don't hurry the fuck up I'm gonna kick this fucking door down!"

"Please, don't leave me alone. This is not my brother. Whoever we just brought home is not Castiel. Something is really wrong with him and we need to get him help, I don't know what he's gonna do if we're left alone together. I'm fuckimg scared right now, I'm scared of my own goddamn brother and you need to help me!" Her voice cracks at the end as tears start rolling down her cheeks once more.

"What am I going to be able to do to make this better. Take him inside, get him a glass of water and let the drugs work their way out of his system. This is all on you right now, he's not my responsibility. I'd said I'd help you get him but that's it. Better be quick about it or he will break down that door." Dean doesn't want to admit it but he's just as scared as she is. Something bad is going to happen and he doesn't want to be around when it does.

"And I thought Cas was the fucked up one." Anna snaps at him before getting out of the car and slamming the door. He waits until they're inside before he finally heads home. Lisa doesn't even ask how it went, just stays silent as he knocks back beer after beer until the edges of the room grow fuzzy. It's after the fifteenth that the phone rings.

"Hello?" Dean slurs when he's finally able to locate it.

"I knew this was going to happen, I knew it and I didn't stop it, I couldn't stop him! This is all my fault, I should've never let him go!"

"Anna? What's wrong?" Dean's heart sinks. It's only been a few hours since he's left them, surely nothing couldve gone wrong in that amount of time.

"He said he was gonna take a shower and it was running for a really long time and then I heard this crash and he wouldn't open the door so I had to kick it down." It's hard to understand her inbetween all her shaky breaths. "He wasn't breathing, Dean! He was jsut lying there and there was an empty pill bottle...it was empty and prescribed to fucking Marv! That jerk off gave it to him and he took them all!"

"Slow down, where is Cas now?"

"The hospital, I'm here now, I called the ambulance and they took us here. They won't let me see him and won't tell me how he's doing but it doesn't look good. I heard some of the doctors talking, something about a possible brain injury and organ failure...I don't know if they'll let you in but you should probably come down before things get bad. While you still have the chance to..." She trails off.

Dean already knows what Anna can't say. That now might be his only chance to say goodbye.


	13. Chapter 13

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>April 12, 1978<strong>

Cas' heart stopped twice before Dean even got to the hospital on that first day. He had smashed his head against the side of the sink which accounted for the possibility of brain damage and whatever pills he had taken had wreaked havoc on his whole system (and certainly weren't the antibiotics that the bottle claimed they were). His chances of surviving the night grew so slim that the doctors disregarded their previous orders of not letting anybody into see him and allowed Chuck, Anna and Dean to this bedside. Dean can't even remember what he said to Cas, unable to process anything beyond his body looking so small and fragile beneath all the machines he was hooked up to, trying to memorize every feature of his face. When Dean finally dragged himself away to get a cup of coffee he was surprised to find the waiting room a whole lot more full than it had been before. A lump rose up in his throat as he took in the concerned and teary-eyed faces of the rest of the members of the band, their entire road crew and friends. Everyone was there for Cas, so he at least he wouldn't have to be alone. They spent all night taking turns sitting with him. It amazed Dean just how much they all cared, and how they all uniquely cared for him; Charlie brought out a worn copy of The Hobbit and read to Cas, breaking down after the fourth chapter; Gabe told a flurry of bad jokes, pausing after each one, as if to see if Cas would laugh in response to any; Zeke prayed aloud, something that surprised Dean because he never thought him to be religious, begging any higher power that would listen to just let Cas open his eyes; Sam brought a myriad of medical textbooks in and pored over each one, stopping every now and again to mention a particular drug that could cause his symptoms and the treatment for each, going quiet whenever one had no known antidote; Benny, the ever faithful bodyguard, stood in the doorway to his room, back straight, gaze steady, as though he was daring death to try and get past him to Cas; and even Lisa, who didn't know Cas at all, had brought in a warm washcloth and wiped the sweat and dirt that was caked on to his face, cooing softly as a mother would do to soothe a sick child.

They all did this for hours and hours, even when it seemed that acting like everything was going to be okay was so futile and wrong that Dean had wanted nothing more than to scream at them to leave because nothing they do was going to bring their friend back from the brink. In the end he was thankful they came.

And now, on the third day, comes the news that Cas has finally woke up. There's an exhausted sort of cheer from those still hanging around but Dean weirdly feels his stomach flip. He is too scared to go in to see him. Too scared of what he's going to say to Cas, too scared of what Cas'll say back. It was so much easier when his sickness overshadowed their problems, but now he has to face them head on.

Cas is propped up on pillows when Dean finally works up the nerve to go back into the room; his face is turned away, gazing out the window, at the flowers budding on the trees.

"Hey," It's enough to make him look over Dean's way. Dean is struck but how gaunt he looks, his skin stretched tight and pale over his skull, his blue eyes burning brighter because of it. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Comes the low rasp in response. "They won't let me leave."

"Why would they? You nearly died, Cas, you should be getting as much rest as possible, I shouldn't even be in here talking to you right now." Dean pulls up a chair.

"You don't want to talk to me?"

"No, I just don't want to send you to your grave prematurely."

"Trust me, if a bottle full of pills can't kill me, you won't be able to." They lapse into silence for a few minutes while Dean tries to come up with the right words to say.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry I was such an asshole, you didn't deserve that. I should have got you way sooner, I shouldn't have stopped caring."

"I'm sorry you came to get me." Cas' tone dares him to refute this and Dean glares at him.

"What the hell do you mean? You were dying out there, you would've died if Anna and I hadnt rescued you."

"I didn't ask to be rescued, Dean, I wasn't a hostage, I was there of my own accord. If you had any problems on my state of health then that was purely your own view of things. I was fine, I was happy."

"You were sick, you were so hopped up on angel dust that you wouldn't have been able to tell me what day it was if I had bothered to ask. You needed help, and I'm beginning to realize that you still need help.." Dean rolls his eyes.

"I'm not some object you can fix, not some project of yours that needs to be worked on. If I'm broken, so be it! That's just the way I am. You cant turn your back on me when you decide there are parts of me you don't like and then have a change of heart later and try to repair non existent damage. You're never going to change who I am, so take it or leave it." Cas glares back at him with equal intensity and Dean can't decide if he wants to punch him in the jaw or hug him. He settles with cracking his knuckles.

"Fine! But you're not going back to that compound, you're not speaking to that freak ever again, and you're rejoining the band. We need our best roadie back." Dean snaps. "And we're not gonna talk about what happened until you're ready to talk about it."

"What if I don't want to be a roadie anymore." The anger hasn't left Cas' eyes.

"Tough shit, I'm not letting you out of my sight until I can be sure you're not gonna do anything stupid again."

"I'm not a child, Dean..."

"Then convince me otherwise. Get some rest, Cas, we have a tour coming up in a month and I need you in top form and I hate to say it but, " A fleeting smile crosses Dean's face as he gets up to leave. "You look like hell."


	14. Chapter 14

I meant to get this out sooner but I watched too much British TV and so Cas and Dean had weird British accents in my head and it made it really hard to write. I apologize now if Dean starts sounding like the artful dodger halfway through.

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Wow, way to be depressing." Rachel says.<p>

"How is that at all depressing? He survived didn't he?"

"Yes, but all your stories seem to be sad."

"Sweetheart, I've got some bad news for you..."

"Oh I don't care how tough your life has been! Tell me a happy story, tell me something that makes me believe that at some point your life wasn't a giant shit pile." Dean laughs and thinks for a minute.

"Well, I've got one. It fits into the timeline actually, but I don't know how 'happy' it is."

"Ugh, just get on with it before I find someone else to write a book about! A book that won't make people feel terrible after reading it!"

* * *

><p><strong>October 9, 1978<strong>

_Someone told me there's a girl out there, with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair._

"This is both too cliché and not at all fitting that it's actually angering me right now, Cas. Seriously, don't make a tape if you can't make a decent road trip playlist." Dean grumbles and reaches to turn the radio off but Cas slaps his hand away.

"Leave it, Dean. This isn't about the music, Sam thinks you're working too hard and this weekend away will be the break you need so your next album doesn't suck." Cas looks stung by Dean's reaction but tries to cover it up.

"Right, he's one to talk...And how am I supposed to not worry about music when you've made the sappiest, most unbelievably - "

"DEAN!"

"Alright, alright, I'll can it. But on the condition that I'm never going to have to do this ever again." It had been Charlie's idea actually, and the whole band had backed her up. They had collectively, and without Dean's knowledge, decided that he needed a vacation to make up for the one he had to miss with Lisa. Unfortunately, Lisa was busy with work and the others had various other engagements, so the only person available to go with him was Cas. Not that Dean minds, he just wishes that Cas had let him pick the music instead. Driver picks the music, after all.

"Please tell me you've packed enough beer to get me through the weekend." Dean grumbles and Cas grips the armrest tightly. He's looking a sight better than when he was discharged but Dean can still see a hollowness around his eyes, as though he's not entirely letting himself recover, still unable to let go of the addiction that nearly destroyed him.

"Dean, you don't need anymore alcohol. Your drinking is getting..."

"Getting what, Cas? Are you really gonna sit here and lecture me about my vices after all that you've down.?" He's hit a nerve now and the rest of the drive is passed in dead silence. He knows he's being an asshole, but he'd much rather be at home watching a football game with a beer in hand instead of ruining the paint job on his car by driving down endless gravel roads to get to some cabin of Bobby's that is probably at least thirty miles away from any sort of liquor store. He hates it already.

As soon as they've pulled up, Dean bites his tongue to stop himself from making a crack about the state of their living quarters for the next couple days; the lawn is overgrown and full of weeds, the house itself is sagging, barely held up by some invisible force keen on keeping the whole thing together. It's a sad sight, to be sure. Cas, however, seems to have no problems with appearances and is staring up at the house with a mix of relief and hope on his face. Dean does notice that he's taking extra care to slam the car door as hard as he can though.

After he's thrown his suitcase into the master bedroom, claiming it as his own and therefore dooming Cas to the less appealing spare bedroom, Dean heads over to the kitchen and starts rifling through the lower cabinet. He's positive Bobby keeps a bottle of rum under there.

"Finding room for the groceries?" Cas asks as he starts bringing in the rest of their stuff from the car.

"Finding something to keep my mind off of being stuck in this place with you for three days." Dean retorts before standing back upright, wincing slightly at the crack in his knees.

"Hilarious."

"No really though, Bobby always kept a bottle of rum in here and now it's gone." After a moments contemplation, he rounds on Cas. "You took it."

"Yes, Dean, I took a bottle of alcohol that I didn't know existed from a cabin that I've never been to before. And you call me paranoid..." Cas walks back out to the car, shaking his head as he goes.

"Well what are we supposed to do for entertainment?" Dean shouts after him.

"Anything that doesn't involve drinking!"

This ends up involving the first night being passed in utter boredom; they complete three puzzles and halfheartedly work their way through a game of monopoly before retiring to their respective rooms for the night. Dean tosses and turns for the majority of it, wishing he was in his own bed with Lisa under the comfortable buzz of a few beers. The sun's almost up by the time he manages to doze off and he wakes up feeling worse than what any hangover has ever done. By the look of Cas, he fared no better.

"I have something for us to do." Dean announces over breakfast.

"What? Make moonshine in the bathtub?" Cas snorts at his own joke.

"No, we're going to build a bench."

"I was kidding about the moonshine..."

"I know, and I'm serious about the bench." Cas looks at him as though he's lost his mind.

"I bring you out here to relax and you want to build a bench? Is this gonna be some show of your masculinity, because if that's the case then that moonshine is starting to look preferable."

"This is my idea of relaxing. So you can either shut up and help me or shut up and stay the fuck out of my way." And so it was settled, by midday they had managed to gather most of what they needed and would pick up the rest the next day. John had taught Dean the basics of construction so he had a fairly decent grasp on what was expected, Cas on the other hand, had clearly not spent a day in a workshop in his life.

"Dean, these planks of wood look the same, how are we supposed to know which ones go where?" Cas is holding up two obviously differently sized pieces of wood.

"Didnt you do wood shop in school at all? You know, building a bird cage and all that?"

"No, I faked a medical condition and never went. Pointlessly testosterone-fueled classes were never my thing. _Are you sure we have enough screws?_"

"Yes, for the fourth time, I double counted everything. Don't worry so much about it, you're over thinking the steps. The wood is cut down to size, we have everything we need to actually put it together, and that will just leave the finishing touches for tomorrow." Dean wipes the sweat off his brow as he drops the last board onto the pile. He feels better now that he's actually doing something productive, it gets his mind off the fact he hasn't had a drink in over 24 hours.

"I just don't see how this is going to work out." Cas isn't wrong; by late evening they've only succeeded in putting the actual seat together but for some reason the legs aren't working out. Dean is following every step to a T, but it seems that whenever he asks Cas to do something, parts of the bench end up nailed to the wrong ends.

"I think you have this backwards..." Dean laughs as the armrest somehow gets attached to the left leg.

"That has to be the first time you've laughed since we got out here. You found that rum, didn't you?"

"You think I'd still be building this bench if I had? "

"Are we just gonna keep answering questions with questions?"

Dean laughs again. "Why do I always forget how weird you are?"

"Two years away will do that to you." Cas replies in a neutral voice but Dean frowns all the same.

"Listen, I'm sorry, it was a rough patch of time for me and I didn't know how to handle you. You had all these new ideas and were always trying to find the next big thing. I just needed the world to slow down for a bit, and I couldn't really get that spending time with you."

"Two years is what it takes to finally get an explanation out of you. You know, I thought about that party a lot after you stopped talking to me, what I did wrong, how I shouldnt have even shown up. I hated myself for ruining the best friendship I'd ever had. I couldn't bring myself to show up to help with gigs and part of me wanted you to call and ask where I was, but you never did. And then I thought I hated you for that, I actually managed to convince myself for a little while that I did. But then as I started getting heavier into the, uh, drugs, I realized a lot of my need to escape was because I didn't hate you, I hated what I had lost. For the first time in my life, I really belonged, not just with you but the whole crew as well. We were a family, plain and simple." Cas admits, keeping his eyes to the ground.

"Buddy, we still are a family. That doesn't just go away because one of us makes a mistake. Your back now, it's okay. Everything's okay." Dean places a a hand on his shoulder and Cas looks up to meet his gaze.

"Just don't be an assbutt again."

"I promise not to be an 'assbutt' if you promise never to take the brown acid again."

"I never took the brown acid..."

"It was a joke, Cas. Now let's get the rest of this put together before it gets too dark and you impale yourself on a two-by-four." They manage to finish up just before Cas has the chance to accidentally impale himself, and Dean doesn't really just how exhausted he is until his head hits the pillow and he's out like a light. It's the best sleep he's had in years.

All the next morning they sand down the bench's edges and fix any last problems that they've missed. Then comes the issue of just where to set it up, Dean wants it on the porch but Cas fights for it to go down by the lake's edge. They compromise and place it on the ledge that overlooks the whole area. When it comes to the final, and most important, test, it passes with flying colours; they can both sit on it without it breaking.

"Look at that! We did it, we successfully made a bench that can withstand the weight of both of us. If the band doesn't work out, we always have a back up plan." Dean raises his arms in triumph.

"And now there will always be a place to sit out here. At least until the wood decays."

"Ever the optimist. Just think, one day you'll bring your kids out here and say 'your uncle Dean and I built this thing years ago! And you can still see where I nearly put my foot through the back'."

"And where will you be?"

"Aww, the good die young, Cas. Everyone knows that."

"Not you, Dean. Not if I can help it."

"Okay, we entering dangerous chick flick territory here. I'm gonna go barbeque something and get some of my manhood back that you've just robbed me of." Dean gets up and starts to head back inside, pausing to make sure Cas would follow him. As usual, he did.

Getting ready to leave on Monday morning went a lot smoother than Dean was expecting, partially due to Cas' insistence on packing most of their stuff the night before. There was still bit of running around (also Cas' fault, he lost the keys to the car), but they made it onto the road with plenty of time to get back before the sun went down. Absent mindedly, Dean puts Cas' mix tape back into the radio.

"We don't have to listen to this, you can choose something else." Cas says bashfully.

"Nah, this is good. This works." He smiles at him and leans back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, humming softly.

_Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams_

_Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems._


	15. Chapter 15

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"So, 1980, a new decade for a new day." Rachel says crisply as she arrives for the next part of their interview that morning. She had left fairly early the night before, citing "too much heavy content" as her reason for cutting it short. Dean thinks she's only half-joking.<p>

"So we're just going to skip 1979? There was an entire year in between '78 and '80 you know.." Dean yawns. He doesn't know how many more of these early mornings he can take. At the very least, Rachel should be bringing the coffee.

"I can sum up your 1979 quite easily actually. 1979: the year of your least successful single to date and your least successful album as well. Care to elaborate on either of those?"

"No, thanks for the reminder."

"The '80's it is then! But I understand that the start of the decade didn't go so well for you."

"Yeah, we were still struggling to get past the reaction to our album and then we, uh, we suffered a very personal loss."

"And that affected you all?"

"Yes, Cas most of all, but the rest of us took it just as hard. Just as things start to right themselves, there's always something to knock you back down."

* * *

><p><strong>January 14, 1980<strong>

"Anna!" Dean shouts over the din. "We could use another round of drinks over here!"

"Just because you're my part-time boss, doesn't mean you get to order me around when I'm at my other job!" She snaps, making her way through the crowd over to their table. It's a busy night at the bar and Dean almost feels bad for showing up. Almost.

"I don't see why you insist on keeping this job anyway, we pay you more than enough!"

"It's not about the money, it's about the boredom. I don't like just sitting around waiting for you guys to go on your next tour. I'd rather keep myself occupied but in a way that I can still help out with the band whenever I can."

"Three cheers to Anna for serving us beer _and _mending our jeans." Gabe slurs and the rest of the group lift their glasses in unison.

"I'm flattered, but you still have to tip me after this!" She collects their glasses on a tray and disappears into the crowd once more.

"I like that this is the one place we can hang out and not be bugged. Our fans are great but there's only so many autographs I can sign in a day." Charlie says, leaning back in her chair.

"That's because everyone here already knows you and is too drunk to care if they don't." Cas points out. It is nice to come back to the Mystery Spot every once in a while to reminisce about how they started out.

"Give them half a chance and they'd still try to get into our pants." Gabe snorts.

"Well ours maybe, but you don't see many people chasing after you all that much. It's not an insult, just a fact."

"Charlie, us drummers are highly revered in the musical and fan world. Just because you don't see the girls flocking to me, doesn't mean they aren't."

"I think it does, actually..."

Dean snickers but make sure to angle his chair so that he's got more room to reach over and break up a flight if need be. They didn't happen often, but he didnt want to have to send Gabe to the hospital on such a nice night. The next couple minutes remain as a blur in Dean's mind, he remembers asking Cas a question, but he doesn't recall what it is. The one thing that even gears down the line stands clear in his mind is the draft from the door opening and the stranger that staggers in from the cold. The man stumbles into a few tables and upends a couple of drinks before making his way to the opposite end of the bar.

"Someone's had a few too many pre-drinks.." Dean comments and returns to the conversation, forgetting about the man for three minutes too long. It isn't until the shouting starts that they remember he exists.

Unless there's a live band playing or a sports game on, the Mystery Spot remains generally quiet, the voices never really rising above a low buzz. So naturally, the moment someone starts hollering, the whole room stands to attention. Dean cranes his neck over the crowd and notice s it's the newcomer who's making all the racket, most of it directed at another man who he must know but some of it spills over to neighbouring tables. He sees Anna make her way towards the disturbance and for a brief moment wants to call out her name, to tell her to stay away in case things go awry.

But he doesn't, it seems like a stupid idea the next second. They're just gonna kick the drunk out and carry on with the night.

Dean doesn't see it happen, he's turned his head to say something to Sam (again, he doesn't remember what it was) and then in the next instant the crowd is surging forward and people are screaming. He is unaware of what they're reacting to until he sees Cas go pale and start to shove his way through the group. By the time Dean catches up, Cas is on the floor cradling Anna in his arms and the drunk stranger is being restrained by two or more patrons; his hands are slick with blood. It's the sight of Cas clutching onto her, his hands pressed tightly against a gash in her neck, and her own hands hanging limply by her side that pushes Dean over the edge. The first punch doesn't satisfy him as he expected it would, it brings no relief to fear that's throwing all his senses into over drive. Nor does the one after that. Or the one after that.

He loses count.

Sam's voice has always been able to pull him back, no matter the situation, but it's not his words he hears over the ringing in his ears. It's Cas, loud and clear begging him to stop, telling him that Anna needs him, that _he_ needs him. Dean's arms drops as he sudden rush of adrenaline comes to a halt and he allows Sam to pull him back from the bloody mess that was once a man.

"Dean, she needs air, help me carry her to a window. She's too heavy, SHE NEEDS AIR." Cas isn't crying but he's verging on hysteria. Dean drops to his knees and slides his arms under Anna's body, not caring that maybe it'd be worse for her to be moved. By the time he's hoisted her up he knows it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

She is heavy, but only because she's become dead weight.

The crowd parts easily for him as he carries her away, not quite sure where he's going yet.

"Bring her over here! To this table." Cas says and Dean obliges, placing her down as delicately as glass onto it. "Now pass me that scarf! We need to stop the bleeding."

Dean follows every order Cas gives him, not because he doesn't know Anna's gone, but maybe because Cas hasn't realized it yet. Even if he does and just hasn't accepted it, Dean doesn't want him to reach that stage. Not now, not yet. Hopefully not ever. And so they keep talking to her as though she were alive, putting pressure on the wound and testing for a pulse that isnt there. Someone in the background shouts that an ambulance is on its way and someone else replies that they should make sure they bring a body bag as well. The people who surround them are giving at least a five foot berth and Cas ignores them all, he's watching the snowflakes drift through the window and land on her face. He's saying something now, so low and so breathy that Dean can't be sure he's hearing it correctly. But he thinks it's the same words over and over again.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

Dean can't listen to it anymore so he folds his arms on the table and buries his head in them, waiting for the distant sound of sirens.


	16. Chapter 16

Big thanks to everyone following, reading, and reviewing this story! You guys all rock.

All rights belong to Supernatural and any other respective companies,

Reviews are always appreciated,

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"The official cause of death was blood loss due to sharp force trauma or whatever they called it. In layman's turns, she was stabbed in the neck with a piece of glass that severed her jugular. I can't even imagine how painful that was. You probably know all this already." Dean says shrugging.<p>

"Sorry." It's hard to tell whether she's apologizing for knowing the answer or the accident itself.

"I am too."

* * *

><p><strong>January 25, 1980<strong>

Dean wishes it was nicer outside. The snow refused to let up and the temperature was dropping continually and it just all felt wrong. Anna didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve to die young, she didn't deserve to be buried in the snow. He wishes the universe couldve taken pity for just one day and let the sun shine down upon her at least, but the clouds don't break and remain as heavy as they had been the night she died.

Lisa is on his left and Cas on his right. Both are gripping his hands with varying strength; Lisa is hanging on limply, her head bowed in defeat. She and Anna used to go for coffee every Wednesday, she told Dean through a wave of tears, and now she'll have to drink coffee alone. Dean notices that over the next few years that there's always a mug set out on the counter on Wednesdays, the coffee in it sitting cold and untouched over the course of the day. One day he buys her a mug that has "Anna's cup" written on the side and Lisa bursts into tears. Not a Wednesday goes by that it isn't filled up.

Cas, on the other hand, is gripping so tightly that Dean thinks the bones in his fingers are gonna break. It's only after the funeral that Cas admits it was his only way of holding on, by physically holding onto something. Dean figures as much at the time so he doesn't say anything, just watches as the tears slide down his cheeks and his right hand crumples and then smooths out a tattered piece of paper covered in scribbles; Anna's eulogy. In a perfect world Cas would be standing up to speak at his sister's wedding, telling friends and family about what a great person she is and how he knows she has many years of happiness ahead of her. But the broken man at the podium instead has to talk about how great she _was _and that she _had_ so many happy years in her short life. Cas' shoulders shake as he tries to explain how hard it will be to go on without her. In the end his voice breaks and Gabriel has to lead him off stage. _  
><em>

Before the funeral began, Dean wondered what sort of music they'd play. He hates himself for caring about something as trivial as that, but he really does. For the most part it ends up being the typical dirges you would expect to hear, thrown in with some hymns and songs about being one with the angels. Halfway through it shifts suddenly, and Dean hears his own voice playing back to him through the speakers. Someone chose to put in Anna's favorite song; the band's own cover of "Tiny Dancer". It's no doubt a personal touch added in by Cas but it's not the only one. Minutes later, as they lower the casket into the grave, " The Weight" starts playing and Dean has to leave.

He locks himself in the men's bathroom and smashes the mirror, revelling in the pain that shoots through his hand. Sliding to the floor, he grabs his flask out of his pocket and downs it in one mouthful. Just to his left, someone's dropped a sharpie on the floor and Dean picks it up without quite knowing what he's going to do next. But then he's standing up and reaching for the shattered mirror, pulling the pieces of glass away until there's nothing left but the unpainted wall. And then he writes, not thinking about the words until they're already written down.

Cas manages to u lock the door an hour later and finds Dean sitting on the floor again, his hands coated in blood and ink. On the wall across from him is an entire song and the word's "Anna's Lullaby" written across the top of it.

"That!" Dean jabs a finger at it. "Is what you should be playing at her goddamn funeral."

They don't get to play it that day, but a week later Cas and Dean go back to the grave site and together they sing the song from start to finish until their voices grow hoarse and they're leaning against each other for support. The song appears without question on their next album and he offers up no explanation for it when asked. But years later he still feels sick inside whenever someone tells him they sing their kids to sleep with it.


End file.
